Scars and Markings
by RaphSai03
Summary: Scars litter my wrists, created from years of desolation. He kisses them, muttering as he does so. He makes feel whole, like the meadow we've built our house on, like the flowers he's crafted into yet another crown. "I love you," he says. And when I stare into his eyes I know, I will never again be alone. (Sequel to Cuts and Bruises)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! Thank you somuch for supporting me all throughout Cuts and Bruises! I really hope you enjoy the sequel as much as the first story! Please enjoy and review.**

It's truly peculiar, the way waves overlap each other, as if they are competing for dominance. The new slap themselves over the old, pushing the latter down under, never again to return to the surface. They lose hope, slowly, that they will never lap at the sandy shores, that the abyss to which they dwell is all they will ever know.

And furthermore, they are desperate. Desperate for life, desperate to reach up to their highest points, to tickle the sun with their salty fingers. Yet, they're filled with something far different than desperation, merely the opposite. Greed.

Haven't you ever wondered why most waves don't reach the shoreline? Or, why others stretch farther than the rest? It's a simple thing to answer; it is because of the envy they hold inside of their slopes. Much like the society the world has grown to adapt, jealousy fuels its core, making even the waves hate its peers.

On the topic of hatred, though, my thoughts wander over to the fire, the one caged between the bricks of the pristine fire place. It's flames flow swiftly, dancing along with the soft music strumming gently from the radio set up across the room. Like an octopuses tentacles, they beckon me over, whisper softly as sparks fly into the air. Rage feeds the fire, laying in the pits of the embers, waiting for the perfect moment to burst into a blaze of glory. And anger. And infuriation.

Once upon a time, I was about as boneheaded and wrathful as the flame and smoke resting before me, constantly irritated with everyone that filled my surroundings. A short wire, I'd been, exploding frequently, looking like a stick of dynamite in a sky of fireworks.

Change had been just beyond the horizon, waiting for the moon to set until it could rise. It brought along an ocean, allowing the water to soak into my skins. One moment I was something—a vengeful, deadly tiger, ready to strike—and the next I was the utter opposite—a weak, fearful doe. Quickly, I transformed into someone who was fragile and broad-minded. My eyes opened, allowing for a crumbling world to unfold around me. Thrown off balance, I became overwhelmed, as everything was coming to me all too fast. Ba-bam! I'm shot with a missile of realization.

Five years later, I've floated ashore, and am lifted into the comforting arms of a meadow. Merely a field of flowers and tall grasses, I shouldn't have felt so safe, so sound, like a child in the thick embrace of a parent. Yet I do.

I'm blended with the meadow now, we're one form, bound to each other by the bands around our fingers. Grinning like the fool that I am, I toy with my own, twisting it around and around.

Footsteps sound from above, barely audible at first, although they grow louder the closer they get to the stairs. It isn't long before he arrives in the base of the living room.

Leonardo's smile lights up the room, sending sparks of jealousy shooting out of the fire, which cowers at the sudden brightness. Instantly enlightened, I stand, my expression softening as we approach one another.

"You ready to go?" Leonardo asks as he takes one of my hands in his. I express my reply through a long, heavy sigh. It rests in the air, swimming around me and my partner. "Raph," Leo begins, his tone already stern, "you know we have to go, it means a lot to Donnie that we be there." Much to my dismay, Leonardo is right to demand that we leave to visit my dear brother.

For five years, we've lived in these woods; five lonesome teenagers-turned-adults, foraging on their own in the world. After about four months of being here, it was decided that a new house be built in replacement of the O'Neil farmhouse. A fortress was crafted, one large enough for all of us to live, plus another few. Not that anyone else would ever dwell out here with us. Or so we thought.

A year passed by when Karai became impregnated by Michelangelo. The announcement was a shock to us all for many reasons, enough of one to send us all into a panic-shaken state. First off, we were five irresponsible teenagers who could barely take care of themselves. Already we were just in the brink of survival, having just enough food harvested in the fields and hunted in the woods to feed ourselves; there was no way we could possibly manage another mouth. Secondly, it was thought of as an impossibility for us, mutants, to get a human pregnant. And finally, no one had a clue and Karai and Mikey were anything more than friends.

When we first came out here, Karai, as promised, was shut away in her bedroom in the basement of the O'Neil farmhouse. Mikey took over the job of bringing Karai new books and movies and meals, due to the demands of Leo that he never leave my side. Some days, Michelangelo would stay down there with her for hours and hours, only to come up to grab her next meal and go back down. The walls were sound proof in the basement, all of them are in this house, so we never quite knew what they did down in the cellar.

After Donatello concluded that Karai was indeed under a brain stimulation causing her to blank out, allowing the Shredder to control his former daughter, she was set free from the room that we so happily imprisoned her in. Karai willingly began to help around the house; aiding with chores, fixing meals, harvesting crops in the fields. All while sticking by Mikey's side.

A fight had broken out amongst us all after we received the news that Karai was pregnant—it was me, Leo, and Donnie against Karai and Mikey. I'd stated rather clearly the unfairness of their irresponsibility, whilst, my baby brother argued that, despite this being an accident, this was still his child, and he would love it till the ends of the world.

Hence, a second house was built for the newly wed, a magnificent cabin on the outskirts of the clearing. Trees tower over the home, casting their magnificent shadows as they bent with the wind. It suited them well—petite and humble. Their little girl likes it too.

The first house was quiet after the departure of Karai and Mikey. Donnie kept to himself mostly, shutting himself away in his lab for most of the day. Me and Leonardo continued to do the chores, hunting and fishing domes days, cleaning on others. We enjoyed spending time with one another, exchanging frequent "I love you"s as a reminder of our admiration for each other. One day, though, dating wasn't enough for me, and I craved more.

Somehow, I convinced Donatello to venture back to Manhattan with me, and, as if a lightning of miracle had struck me, we happened upon exactly what did been hoping to find: two matching wedding bands.

It was on the hill that I first confessed me love to him, the same hill that we shared our first kiss on, where I proposed. Bent down on one knee, the breeze flew only around us, never letting even its chilly fingers brush against the flesh of our arms. It was as if we were in a force field, all that was going on, wasn't actually going on. Because in that moment, when the sun was setting and the birds cheerful tunes were dying into a growing silence, it seemed to me like me and Leonardo were the only two people in the world.

"Leonardo DaVinci Hamato," I'd begun, "will you marry me?"

He'd said yes.

He'd said yes and my heart was spewing out excitement. And happiness. And love.

We married a week later, the vows said on that hill that we'd made a habit of making memories on. It was a short ceremony, with very few people watching. Casey was the only guest not living in these woods to come to the wedding. But it was blissful—the ceremony, the after party, the wedding night.

After the wedding—the second since we arrived at the farm—I begun to feel sorry for none other than Donatello. He was all alone, no one to hold at night, no one to flirt with over breakfast, no one to say "I love you" to. No one to say it back. We were all paired off, Karai and Mikey and me and Leo. But Donnie remained a lonesome wolf.

I picked up on his loneliness quickly, but when I confronted him about it, he denied my words, labeled them as rubbish.

He was building a house on top of the hill, he informed me. It was a way of changing conversation, I knew, but I was intrigued. It was a house for me and my husband.

So here we are now, in a house of our own. It's cozy and quiet, set apart from the other homes. But Donatello is still alone, in the house meant for five. Therefore, every Friday we go to visit him, that way he isn't always so alone. That way he knows that he still has family, even if we're all wed and he's single. That way he doesn't drown in isolation like I always have.

I enjoy being with Donnie, having him be my only blood relative in the world—at least that I know of—makes us particularly close. Yet, every Friday I'd do almost anything to escape having to come.

"Yeah, yeah, I know how much it means to him. But just imagine how much fun we'd have if we stayed here," letting go of Leonardo's hand, I place both of mine on his thighs, just below his shell. Rubbing smooth circles, I grin when he lets out a sigh of pleasure. Slowly, I work my massaging fingers inward, moving towards his cloaca.

Leonardo picks up on my act of seduction. Forcefully, he grabs me by the wrists and drags me to the door. "We'll come home right after dinner, I promise." Just before I step through the door, Leo turns around to glance back at me, a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he adds, "And when we get home, we'll go straight to the bedroom."

Suddenly giddy, I chase after my lover, racing him to the house that holds the last of us Hamato's.

* * *

Sleep doesn't come as soundly tonight. Instead I struggle to fall deeply into a pit of slumber. Beside me, Leonardo snores, his heavy breaths just barely muffled by the the pillow he buries his angelic face in. I envy him, he's lucky to be able to relax so easily, and he doesn't even realize it.

Ever since the beginning of my depression, any form of leisure has been a never ending battle. I'm uncomfortable in my own skin, desperate for a cure to my itch. And although I haven't self harmed in over five years, despite the antidepressants I take every day, I'm not the same as I once was. I still have terrible days, and still contemplate over what death would be like. Sometimes, I even look at the blades in the knife shed, and an almost foreign desire to cut my wrists comes shooting into me, striking me down like lightning. I never cut though, not since I got with Leonardo.

He loves me, he says.

I'm his world, he says.

He'd be lost without me, he says.

He'd travel to the moon and back if it guaranteed my safety, he says.

I love you, too, I reply.

And you're my sun, I reply.

I would never walk a step away from you, I reply.

Then I shall trace the Galaxy to ensure yours, I reply.

Through all of this—my depression, suicide attempts, self harm—Leonardo has been there 100% of the time; even when I tried with all my might to shove him away, he came back to me. He's the only one who loved me during everything.

Donatello once told me that with enough happiness and love and antidepressants, I'd permanently rid myself of my depression. He thought, that because he recovered so quickly after what happened when I first got with April, that depression was easily defeated. He was wrong.

What happened with Donnie wasn't depression, it was jealousy. That's why he so quickly recovered, because what he'd felt was a mere emotion, not a wave of numbness.

When you're depressed, there's no such thing as recovery. The word it's self is meaningless—as shallow as a wine glass. No matter how happy you are, no matter how much love you receive, no matter how many pills you take, you can never get away from depression. It still tickles you with its long, bony fingers, and whispers your name in the dead of night when you're alone and vulnerable.

I've endured pain in ways no one ever has, I've sliced my own skin too many times to count. But nothing will ever be worse than the feeling of emptiness. Depression is hard to describe, because those who experience it don't live long enough to tell the tale, and if they do, they can't find the voice to speak.

It never leaves you, though, like I've said previously. It clings to you, staying with you through thick and thin. And you bare it like a scar, not proud, yet, not ashamed to have it.

My name is Raphael Sanzio Hamato. I am 21 years old and married to the most wonderful man in the world, Leonardo DaVinci Hamato. I am depressed, and think about suicide rather a lot. But husband fights my battles with me, scaring away the snakes that lurk within the depths of my soul. He loves me, even when I loath myself.

* * *

I fell in love with you because you loved me when I couldn't love myself.

—Unknown


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again, thank you for the favs/follows/reviews, please, keep them coming! On another note, at the end of each chapter are quotes, rather than song lyrics, like in Cuts and Bruises. I will be taking submissions, so if you happen upon a quote you think might be useful, feel free to leave it in a review or pm me. Quotes can come from books, movies, songs, or the internet, but please leave the source if you send one in. With that said, enjoy and review!**

I find it strange when the weather matches my mood, reflecting my inner feelings like a mirror. For instance, on the days where I wake with a smile on my face, and a spark of happiness igniting my eyes like a firework, the sun shines bright and the birds chirp and flowers blossom. The breeze will be faint, barely noticeable as I wad through the creek, Leonardo following close behind. And when the sun goes down for the day, lightning bugs will play an intense game of hide-and-go-seek in the tall, bushy grasses.

But there are other days, days like today, where rain pours from every crack in the sky, and not a single beam of sun wanders through the splits in the clouds. The animals are hidden away, in the warmth and dryness of their burrows and nests, never daring to retreat unless for food. Which, I suppose, is unfortunate, having I'd made hunting my excuse for venturing out on this chilly summer morning. Nevertheless, I've shot a bird and two squirrels, which is seemingly enough game for one round, based upon the weather. Still, I feel useless out here.

My sorrows are high today, despite the earliness. From the moment I awoke, I knew that today would be another one of those days where depression finds me once more, and my mind perceives the blades on the counter as yet another possibility of happiness.

I was quiet while I got ready, careful not to meet the creaks in the floorboards. It was rather obvious to me that if Leonardo woke before I could flee our humble home, he would either demand I stay home or tag along. And it's a good thing I made it out here on my own, because solitude is the thing I seek most on this dull morning.

Donatello had passed me on my why out; he came with our weekly batch of eggs, freshly laid by the chickens in the coop behind his house. "Does Leo know your going out?" Was his immediate question. Donnie knows me like the back of his hand, he knows the ins and outs of my thick head and would never second guess a suspicion he'd developed when it came to me. He knows that on my worst days, when the thoughts of helplessness come creeping back into my head, when the demons in my soul screech in agony, I sneak out, and I won't tell a soul where I'm headed.

I attempt to convince myself that he's just worried for me, or that he's trying to save me from Leo's wrathful scolding when I return—because lord knows I'll receive one—but even that doesn't work today.

"Yeah. Yeah, he knows I'm leavin'," the lie burns my tongue, but I dare not show it.

Donatello tilts his head, eyes pouring into mine. I can sense his need to understand me, I can see the questions he's dying to ask, they rest in the pits of his eyes. "As long as you told him." We switch places, him now inside the cozy house, and me standing on the porch, ready to head to the shed that holds my bow. His hand on my shoulder stops me. "You should wear a jacket, the forecast shows heavy rains today."

I shake my head, denying the suggestion with a half-hearted fake smile. "I'll be back before the rain."

But I'm not home and the rain started hours ago. Instead, I'm sitting on a boulder, staring down at his grave, which is littered with wilting flowers. I lay a fresh rose on the top of the tombstone.

"Hey dad," I choke on my own words, sadness overwhelming me. "It's been awhile. I've been meanin' to come out here, but Leonardo rarely leaves my side and this is something I'd prefer to do alone. No harsh feelings to Leo, though, he's just protective, and maybe even scared."

The sigh that escapes my throat slithers, floating upward. It becomes lost in the trees, and I suddenly have a longing to do the same.

"Everything's good back in the clearing," I continue on a lighter note, venturing onto the subject of family. "Ellie's fourth birthday is in a month, and she's becoming more and more like her parents every day. She's hilarious at gatherings, constantly cracking her little jokes and dancing around, just to make everyone smile. Although, she's got quite the attitude as well, taking after her mother. I'd never seen someone resemble both the personalities of Mikey and Karai, but she manages. You'd be proud of your granddaughter.

"Leonardo's been talking about kids of our own, too. It hurts to burst his bubble by reminding him that we can't, having us both be male. Nevertheless, he mentions his desire to have a family time and time again." I twirl my wedding ring around and around. I do this often, as a way of telling myself that I am not alone, that Leonardo is still here for me, no matter what I'm feeling deep within.

"Donatello is still indulging himself in projects, whether they be big or small, he rarely takes time away from them." Sitting up straighter, I look at the red rose, studying the droplets of rain that have gathered on its Crimson petals. "I'm worried for him. You know how he is, anytime he's nervous or angry or upset or afraid he musters up some sorta project and channels all of his emotions into that. I just wish he would tell me what's going on with him."

A sharp, unexpected breeze rattles the trees, coming from absolutely nowhere. My father's frail whisper echoes in the back of my mind, and I can't tell if it's him now, or a distant memory that's speaking to me.

"But what about you, my son, are you happy?"

"No. No, I'm not happy. Not today at least." What a tough question to answer.

I slide off of the slippery rock and sit in front of the tombstone, not minding the muddy ground to which I'm met with. "Actually, I don't know. I'm happy with many aspects with my life; my marriage being one. I've never felt quite this blissful before, not until I married Leo. I see it as a blessing, our mountain strong relationship. But we still fight sometimes, and in fact, I'm almost positive that we'll quarrel when I return home today.

"I'm happy with those around me—Leo, Donnie, Mikey, Karai, and Ellie. I'm happy with my home. I'm happy with my lifestyle. I'm happy with my daily activities and I'm happy with the meals I feast on and I'm happy with the outcome of the long journey I've traveled. Yet I'm not happy. Because I continue to have days like today where I want to do nothing but let out a scream, a cry of agony, and slit my wrists as many times as I need to to feel whole. The only reason I don't do all of that is because of Leo." Hot tears drip down the curves of my face, and fall further to the ground. They embed themselves in the dirt.

With my husband on my mind, I stand, reaching behind me for my bow. I have to return home, I may want to be alone, but I wouldn't be so cruel as to cause him the fright my disappearance will cause.

"I'm happy, and at the same time, I am not." I bow down to the tombstone, to my father. "Goodbye, dad."

* * *

Hesitantly, I open the door to the house. Poking my head in first, I call out, "Leo? Ya home?"

I don't bother to slide my hunting boots off when I enter, not that I'd have the time, because the second I'm in the house Leonardo is all over me.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick!" He slaps me with the dish rag in his hands.

I roll my eyes as I hold up my bag of game. "Hunting."

"That I highly doubt." Leonardo takes my bag of game and sets it on the bench by the door. "God, you're shivering. Come upstairs, I'll run you a shower."

I never would've expected Leonardo to let me shower alone, he always follows me in, even for baths. Though, I can't say I'm not surprised when he grabs the bar of soap and begins to scrub the back of my shell.

"Now, like to tell me where you really were?" There's a harshness in his voice, the kind that I suppose is fueled by exhaustion and maybe even frustration.

I press my hands against the tile wall and try to hold steady as Leonardo polishes my shell. "Already told you, I was in the woods, hunting."

"Oh really, so you weren't out by Splinter's grave again?"

Freezing up, I lean my weight against the shower wall. My teeth clench as a storm of confusion pours down on me. How does he know about that?

"For the past five and a half years I've been trying to contact him," Leonardo reminds me, a sigh following his words. He drags that statement, as if it were too heavy to bear. "Never has it worked."

There's a familiar sadness lurking in my husbands low voice, one that halts every racing thought I could possibly muster.

He draws the soap away from my shell, setting it back where it belongs. Slowly, I turn around, daring myself to face Leonardo. His eyes glimmer in the dim light radiating off of the dying light bulb used to brighten the room some. Wet tears glisten in the corners of the sapphire orbs I've grown to love.

"Why do you waste your time telling his tombstone your every problem when you could easily talk to me, your husband?" Hurt shines through Leonardo's raspy voice.

I step towards him as I reply. "Because I don't want to startle you. I don't want you to worry for me every second we're apart. I don't want you to question my happiness. And most of all, I don't want you to think that any of this is your fault." Swiftly, I reach for his hand, taking it in my own. I bring it towards my lips, ready to press a kiss to his soft skin.

But he pulls away from me, a disgusted expression settling upon his face. "So you don't trust me?"

I shake my head. No, no, he has it all wrong.

Trust has nothing to do with this situation. When I refuse to tell him about the screams echoing off the walls of the abyss in my mind, it isn't because I'm afraid of what he'll do with the information. It's because I'm afraid that he'll treat me differently, in a sense that'll make me feel even more helpless. I don't need someone to fix me, I need someone to love me.

"Leo, I trust you more than anyone, you know that, too. This situation is an obvious misinterpretation, please don't let this be the end of us." Fear tickles my soul, teasing me like a misfit. A brutal fight of angered words and yells of agony and perhaps even the swing of a fist is just beyond the horizon, whether I'd like to admit it or not.

"Then paint the picture for me, Raphael, interpret the words I'm so clearly misunderstanding." Leonardo's lips are curled as he hisses the words. They squeeze through the gaps between his teeth, clever as they pollute the air.

My nostrils flare, and it takes every fiber in my being not to slap him. "What I'm trying to say, is that I don't want you to treat me like a sick puppy. I want you to treat me like I'm a normal person."

Am I selfish for saying this? To say that I want him to somehow convince me that I am something that is rather the opposite of what I truly am?

"But you're not normal!" The yell bounces off the walls, reverberating round and round and round the inside of my head, hitting my skull with enough force to give me an instant headache. "You are damaged far beyond repair; but that's okay because I am too. That shouldn't matter though, to either of us. Our love is an undying passion, whether we are internally wounded or not."

I snort, rolling my eyes sarcastically. Stepping out of the shower, I leave the water for Leo to turn off. "Then why are you always staring at my scars?"

Grabbing two towels, I toss one back at Leonardo, who catches it while it skids through mid-air.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

Leonardo rubs the soft cloth over his body, ridding his flesh of glistening water droplets. The movements of his body are seemingly well-practiced, as he does everything so perfectly, with precise timing and fluent movements.

"Last night, when we were having sex, you never met my eye once. You kept staring at my cuts." A wound shouldn't be noticeable through words, but my hurt suddenly is. You can hear it clearly, whether you listen with keen interest or a bleak sense of disinterest.

"They're scars now, Raph. You know I don't like it when you refer to them as cuts."

I shake my head, desperation filling my voice as I practically shout, "You're missing the fucking point!"

This gets his attention. In fact, he throws his towel around his neck, letting either end drape over his shoulders. He tilts his head, studying me carefully.

I ball my hands into fists, breathing heavily. My anger is building, boiling like a raging pot of soup. I try not to explode, but it's too much to bear, and suddenly, I'm practically screaming.

"Whenever we used to make love we would lock eyes and smile, enjoying each other as much as the pleasure our chemistry provided. Even when things got awkward—when we bumped heads, or an elbow was jabbed into someone's plastron—we laughed it off. But now things are different and when we're in the bedroom with the lights turned off and candles lit, you're staring not at my face, but instead in every spot on my body that I could possibly hide a scar." I swallow my words, forcing back a chorus of hot, wet tears that have gathered during my rant. "You don't know how much it hurts that my scars have become more important to you than me."

Leonardo stalks forward, a flare has seemingly been lit in his eyes, and with every step that brings him closer to me, the flames grow and grow. By the time he halts, his snout barely an inch away from mine, the fire is lapping at me, burning my flesh.

I ponder over what I could do right now; place my hands on either side of his beautiful face, bring his lips to mine so I can kiss him with as much passion as the fire in his eyes. Makeup sex, that's how this could end.

But I'm frozen as he glares at me, and the only thing I can do is return the harsh favor.

"I'm not going to deny that I stare at your scars when they're showing; that would be ignorant and out right stupid. But, have you ever thought, for a single second, that maybe the only reason I ever do anything is for you? Because can assure you, that the only thought I can ever process when my eyes wander to your faded wounds is that I'm wondering if you're okay." Leonardo steps back, putting only more distance between us. I hate it, the empty space that lies in the air our bodies don't take up. Right now, we should be in the shower, in the midst of a heavy make-out. Instead, we are starting what I'd expect to be one of our biggest fights.

Leonardo's gaze softens some, as his eyes shift downward, to our hands. He stares at mine, lost in thought.

The silence that fills the room is deafening while I wait for him to add the words that have obviously gone unspoken thus far.

Then he looks up again, and his sapphire eyes show the Galaxy. As I stare at the stars and moons and planets, I feel like I am floating on a cloud. An awestruck feeling shoots through my body as he takes my hands in his own. "If you would open up to me, if you would let me in on what's going on with you, things would be different. I can promise you so."

He leans closer, and presses his gentle lips to my cheek.

This should be enough for me, the rest should be a breeze from here—a simple chat to work things out. However, my temper has gotten the better half of me today, therefore, things don't go as planned.

I tear away from him, a deadly glare in my narrowed eyes. The rage burning within me is unwanted by the both of us, yet I cannot stop pouring the fuel, feeding the flames further.

"It's never been about opening up to each other, it was only ever being there so neither of us felt alone and helpless." I rip my bandages clean off as I say this, along with all of my other wrappings and mask. Finally, every inch of me is revealed. "Back when I was making these," I point to my scars, "you wanted nothing other than for me to stop. Back when I was drinking my way through life, you only wanted for me to sober up. Back when I was making suicide attempts, you didn't care about anything but saving me from myself. Through everything, my empty thoughts meant nothing to you, my safety did. Why should anything be different now than it was before?"

Leonardo takes my towel away from me, and drops it in the hamper along with his. Then he pushes past my wide frame, heading out the door and down the hall. I follow him, just as he starts with his response.

"Because we're different than we were before. Back then, I saw you as a brother to save, and now you are a husband that I love and want to know everything about. If you were still cutting and drinking and wanting to kill yourself then I would do everything in my power to stop you; but right now you aren't, you're merely depressed, therefore, I will strive to understand why you let these thoughts damage you."

Humming softly, my husband pours two, steaming hot mugs of coffee, while I retrieve a box of blueberry muffins and a pair of plates from the pantry. I find it rather amusing how, despite the argument we are indulged in, we continue on with our usual routine—mourning shower together, drying off with a conversation, and fixing up a breakfast to dine on while sitting across from each other at our small kitchen counter. Maybe these small actions come to prove how much we love each other.

"You know just as much as I do how hard it is to fight off inner thoughts when they cause you to endure so much pain."

Leonardo looms before his meal, staring at me over the brim of his mug with giant eyes. There's a loud 'clank' as metal meets the marble countertop, and a soft sigh of refreshment isn't far behind.

"Right, but I overcame my paranoia, you're depression is still there."

My jaw drops as I inhale his shocking comeback. Confusion blows me away, like dust in a wind storm. When I exhale his unexpected response, I'm drowning in realization.

A flare of anger has been ignited.

"Are you calling me weak?!" I demand through gritted teeth.

He pours the fuel.

"I'm certainly not calling you strong." Leonardo pushes away from the counter, a lightning storm flashing in the sapphire irises of his eyes.

I feed the fire.

"The only weak thing I've ever done is marry you." Shots are fired as I say this with a broad tone and clear words. I don't know what's worse: his lack of reaction or the words he returns.

He fans the flames.

"I never loved you anyway."

I dare to strike another match.

"Well at least no one has to pretend anymore." A sarcastic smirk plays on my lips as I throw my hands up in the air.

The fire keeps burning, bright against the dark sky and shinning stars.

Solemnly, Leonardo brings his right hand into the other.

I'm not sure what I'm thinking as I watch him remove his wedding ring, but my heart races as he places it on the counter.

"Goodbye, Raphael." And just like that, I'm alone in the kitchen, a fire burning in the depths of my soul.

* * *

Lied too much, he says that he's had enough. Am I too much? He said that he's had enough. Standing on my own, remember the one I left at home. Forget about the life I used to know. Forget about the one I left at home.

— Three Days Grace (On My Own)


	3. Chapter 3

_He's an angel, you can see it in his eyes when he smiles, hear it when he tells you a story, his voice filled with enthusiasm. Right now it's clear as day, the purity radiating off his perfect body as he races through the tall, wild grasses. He giggles, turning around every few seconds to watch me. His eyes are bright with excitement as he calls, "Catch me if you can!"_

 _I want to sprint forward and lift him into my arms. Press a kiss to his lips and murmur his three favorite words:_

 _"I love you."_

 _But he's fast, bolting through the fields, making his way to our meadow. And also, I like the way it feels, to watch him from behind. Because there's something calming, enlightening, about the way each individual bristle of grass bends to make way for him, as if he were the king they were his servants._

 _Sometimes I pause and reflect on my life. That's when I wonder how I got where I did. Two years ago I was self harming and contemplating suicide, drinking my way through tough days of severe depression. Now I'm healed, I'm better than I once was. Although I still have my bad days, it's easier to cope. He helps me get by._

 _As for him, two years ago we would break into a fight at the mere sight of one another. Today, I'm going to propose to him in our meadow._

 _"You're gonna have to move faster, Raphael!" He prances right past the little hill in the beautiful crafted meadow. His feet thump against the ground, crushing little purple flowers._

 _I don't move an closer, I halt on top of the hill, and watch as he continues on for little while longer. Soon, he doesn't hear the soft pitter-patter of my footsteps following his, so he turns around, a confused expression laid out across his face._

 _Smirking, I beckon him over with a mischievous flash of my emerald eyes. He approaches me, with a furrowed brow. "Why'd you stop?"_

 _In replace of an answer, I bend down—I've grown quite a bit, gaining at least three inches on him—and press a gentle peck to his cheek._

 _He smiles, a heart warming vibe radiating off of him._

 _"For two years I was depressed, and I cut, and drank, and tried to kill myself. I wasn't ever happy. The world around me was growing black. The only color was the cuts I carried on my wrists. The blood that drained from the scars I had made. I needed help. I wanted help. But I thought the world had forgotten me. And that I was alone." I croak, choking on my own words. I spent three hours working on this speech in front of the mirror this morning, and in still not prepared to speak it. So much could go wrong._

 _Leonardo's puppy dog eyes stare up at me, looking like lanterns against the sunset around us. Curiosity glazes those sapphire orbs that I loath to call eyes. Everybody had eyes, some are blue and some are brown, others green and every once in a while, grey. But no_ t _all eyes are as powerful as his._

 _"You were the only one who listened, the only one who helped me through it all. Even when I denied it, I needed you." With a dorky smile plastered on my face, I grab his hands and bring each one up to my lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of them. "I need you. And I love you." His face goes hot with blush, something that amuses me far more than it should. I find it cute, how even after being together for as long as we have been, he still gets_ _flustered at my little signs of affection._

 _Getting down on one knee, I release his right hand, but grasp tighter onto his left as I fish in my belt pocket for the little box I had stored there. Cracking it open, I glance up at him, my angel, my sweetheart, my boyfriend, my hopefully-soon-to-be-husband._

 _He's already tearing up, those sapphire saucers glistening with joy. He knows rather well what comes next._

 _"Leonardo da Vinci Hamato, will you marry me?" I'm grinning like a fool even before he replies._

 _"Yes, Raph, yes I will marry you!" His words ring loudly throughout the meadow—our meadow—sending singing birds into flight. They diver over us, casting shadows. A sliver of darkness is nothing compared to the light of my world._

 _Giddy._

 _Excited._

 _Light as a cloud._

 _I lift him into my arms, twirling him around and around, pressing long, heavy, sloppy kisses to his soft lips._

 _I love you._

 _I love you._

 _I love you._

* * *

'There's nothing left for you,' a sharp voice hisses from the back of my head, 'he doesn't want you. He hates you. You have nothing left to live for. Kill yourself.'

Sometimes little voices speak to me. They dwell in my mind and wait till I'm most vulnerable to speak. They are loud, I can hear them over every other voice in the world. They talk to me often, and although their words be angry and hurtful, the sound of another voice helps to keep the loneliness at bay.

I don't tell people about these voices. No one knows that when I stare blankly at the wall across from me, I'm not lost in a deep thought, I'm simply listening to the voices. Absorbing their words like sponge in an ocean.

I know better than to tell Donnie about the voices. He'll diagnose me with schizophrenia and give me pills that'll get rid of the voices. Leonardo will ensure that I take the medication.

That's what they just wouldn't understand, I suppose. The fact that I don't want to get rid of the voices, I want to keep them in my mind at all times. Because when I'm alone and cold and isolated from the rest of the world, they talk to me, keep me company. I mean, sure, maybe the conversation they bring isn't as inspiring as it could be, right now, for instance, the voices are telling me to commit suicide. Still, sometimes these voices are all I have to hold onto.

'You can drown yourself right now, all you have to do is stick your head deeper into the water. All of your problems will go away if you do. You won't have to run anymore if your dead.'

I focus on the whisper. It's sharp, disturbing the melodic sound of silence.

The bath water swishes as I shift my body, attempting to get into a more comfortable position. With a grunt, I stop moving. No way can I relax, not like this, not with this steaming water burning my flesh, not with suicide plans roaming my mind.

So I pause for a second. Stop and reflect. Why am I here? Where is here?

Well, I'm at Donatello's house, in the second upstairs bathroom, the one at the far end of the hall. He's downstairs, I can hear the soft pitter-patter of his footsteps on the wooden floors as he cooks a meal for the two of us to dine on.

It's quite upsetting, actually, to know that I'm over here and there is only the two of us. Often, Michelangelo, Karai, Ellie, Leonardo and I all visit on the same day, at the same time, making for a group of six. And, at least if Mikey and Karai, as well as their daughter, aren't here, then Leo travels with me. Not today. Today it's just me and Donnie.

I've run away from home, away from my husband and our cabin on the little hill in the beautiful meadow. Away from the trees that surround our property. Away from our well-kept flower gardens. Away from our relationship.

'Was that really the end of us?' I wonder with a sigh in my heart. 'Are me and Leonardo truly done for?'

I sure as hell hope not. I'm not sure how I could ever get by without him.

I sink lower into the water, until I'm covered completely. I'll drown myself, that's how I'll go. It'll be long and painful, but it'll be over soon. And then no one will have to bear the disgrace of my existence.

30 seconds has passed by and my lungs are burning.

60 seconds are gone and I'm questioning how much longer I have until it's lights out.

90 seconds go by and I'm half way there, but that's when my life flashes before my eyes.

120 seconds and he crosses my mind.

A crystal clear image of him appears. I study his royal blue mask and those sapphire eyes that compliment him oh-so perfectly. His smile, genuine, though small, lights up my world. He stands in the doorway to our house.

He looks me in the eye.

And everything.

Falls.

Apart.

Distress crosses his face. Misery clouds his eyes. "Don't leave me, Raphael." He yells but he whispers. He's hopeless yet he's faithful. He's strong, while at the same time, weak. "You're all I have left."

I jerk upward. When the water exits my lungs, so does the vision. I'm panting as I think to myself, 'God, what I wouldn't to hear him say that.'

* * *

In one moment I fell in love. In another I had enough.

— Rey Woodman


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello there darlings! Thank you so much for the thoughtful reviews :) Im glad so many of you are already enjoying this story. Hopefully it continues to be a success.**

 **A couple of announcements really quick. One, I recently made a TMNT themedInstagram account for you guys to follow me on. My user name is, "Raphsai_10" so please, check it out! I have the cover for this story posted there, considering I was unable to upload it onto this website. Credits to the wonderful Seigaku-San! Check out her Deviantart ;)**

 **Two, the italicized sections of this chapter are flash backs, same goes for the previous chapter. Probably should have mentioned that.**

 **With those things said, enjoy and review!**

 _Wind. It chased me, tickling my bare arms, sending goosebumps racing down my body. No matter where I went, it didn't leave me. Though, I shouldn't wonder why. After all, it seems to me that he controls the wind._

 _Him, the boy sitting cross legged in the grass, weaving together a flower crown. Red roses. Pink carnations. White daisies. I lay my head on his legs, a grin spreading from ear to ear as I take in his every detail._

 _"What's that for?" There isn't a speck of curious inside of me, I know what the crown is meant for, and who'll wear it. I just want to hear the words roll across his tongue._

 _"You." He's concentrated on his work, eyes narrowed slightly as he folds steams over one another, moving his fingers swiftly, delicately._

 _"As usual." I try for a genuine smile, urging him to take his attention away from his craft and to focus it on me instead. "And anyway, I wasn't asking who it was for, I was asking what it was for."_

 _I win._

 _He sets the half-finished flower crown in the grass beside him, beside us. The bristles bend, just as his neck does as he leans down to kiss me._

 _The tip of his snout brushes against my chin as our lips connect. My nose inhales the wonderful scent of his flesh, capturing every last detail of his luscious neck. Bent over me, he radiates heat, bringing my heart up another 300 degrees._

 _His pulls back, but not too far. We're still breathing the same air, our eyes staring into he each other as he shifts back some. "For our wedding."_

 _Leonardo laces his fingers with mine. He smiles an opened tooth grin as his gaze shifts to our engagement rings._

 _"Isn't it funny," he starts, a playful tone filling his angelic voice, "how it took me two months to convince you to go out with me, and you're the one who proposed?"_

 _I chuckle, instantly thinking back to all of the times that Leo practically pleaded for me to go steady with him. And furthermore, all of the times I said no._

 _"What can I say? I'm a lovesick fool."_

 _Leonardo pulls back more, sitting upright. His mask tails drape over his shoulder, ending just before my face. A simple expression is what he uses to look down at me with, one that's a clear mixture of solitude and calmness. "Don't say it like that."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because it sounds like we're gonna fade." His eyes droop and he replaces a previous smile._

 _I get up, sitting in front of him now, with my legs tucked under me. I cup his face in my hands, and stare deeply into his eyes. "We are never, ever going to fade."_

 _"Promise?"_

 _I nod. "I promise you. We won't fade."_

* * *

We've faded.

I can feel our relationship begin to fray and tatter, all color slowly bleaching into an obvious nothing, as I pass by our house, a cross bow in my hand, an empty bag slung over my shoulder. He's in the garden, planting flowers. I can hear the shovel pulling up dirt as I approach, but when he sees me, he stops all together.

I don't stare back, I continue on my way, trying to focus my mind instead on where the best hunting spots would be on a day like this. But my thoughts wander back to him.

There was talk that we would tend the garden together, just like we did last year and the year before. Perhaps he carried on without me because he didn't think I'd be interested. Little does he know that I never have been interested in planting. I only did it because he did it. I only did it to spend time with him.

That doesn't matter now, it seems.

His eyes burn into the back of my neck, practically setting me on fire. I want to whip around and say, "screw it," as I run towards him. I want to lift him into my arms and smash my lips against his in a firm kiss. I want to murmur the words, "I love you," against the soft flesh of his neck. Better yet, I want him to say it back.

I don't do that.

Instead, I continue on my way into the forest, trying my best to ignore him. It's sad, that we've come to the point where, when we cross paths, we do nothing but glare. No words. No gestures. Just evil stares and clenched teeth. It's sad that this is how it outta be.

...

 _There isn't a podium, so he stands beneath the oak tree, its twisting branches looming over him as he waits for me. His mask tails flow in the direction the wind travels, but his eyes are set on me. A smile creeps onto his lips, transforming into a tooth-showing grin with every step I take, bringing me closer and closer to him with each breath I take._

 _I link arms with Donatello as he leads me down the aisle between two rows of chairs. There's only four people here to watch—on the left sits Mikey and Karai, while the other side holds Casey and an empty chair waiting to seat Donnie. The audience stands as me and Donnie near the oak tree._

 _About four feet away from Leonardo, Donnie untangles his arm from the chain we'd made. He presses a kiss to my cheek before walking over to sit beside Casey._

 _Taking a deep breath, I take a step forward._

 _This is it, tonight we marry._

 _I move forward._

 _We'll never again be apart._

 _Only another step._

 _No regrets._

 _He takes my hands in his._

 _No backing down._

 _He stares into my eyes._

 _I know I've made the right choice._

 _"I, Leonardo da Vinci Hamato, take you, Raphael Sanzio Hamato, to be my husband, to have and to hold, whether the days be uplifting or raging with despair. Forever I will walk beside you, till death do us apart, and then again, in the heavens. I chose you to be mine, the one I would die for, the one I will save. By taking your hand, I make a vow to teach you how to love life, to show you not your flaws, but instead your perfections. By taking your hand, I promise to love you—today, tomorrow, forever."_

 _He speaks loudly, his words heavy against the rest of the world. The way he speaks urges me to forget about the onlookers, forget about our friends and family, forget about the world, forget about life. He takes me to another place, in another time, where nothing matters but him and me, where there is nothing but the two of us and this meadow we wed in._

 _"I, Raphael Hamato, take the hand of you, Leonardo Hamato, with the promise for a lifetime of love and happiness. I will love you without condition, speak you truth even when you don't ask for it, honor you each and every day with the respect you deserve. I will laugh with you, and smile with you, even when the days are dark and fights are brutal. I will fight the cloudy days, as well as the battles you face. As we join together on this day, with this ring I vow, you will never walk alone. Let my heart be your shelter, and my arms be your home. Forever my lover, my soulmate, my best friend, my husband."_

 _I've rehearsed these words, this speech, this bow, this promise, a hundred times before. I wanted it to be perfect, for him, for me, for us. These words are what bind us together, these words are what give us standards, what gives us marriage. What gives us a life together._

 _"As I give you this ring, I vow to forget about myself, and instead focus on your needs, wants, and desires." We say these words together, in perfect synchronization, as if by a spark of magic._

 _I slide the silver ring—the one I wore as my engagement ring, the one that'll play as Leonardo's wedding ring—off of my finger, and instead onto his. He pushes a golden ring onto my finger._

 _"Do you take me to be yours?" Leonardo's eyes shine as stars sparkle in them._

 _"I do," I say quickly, with a definite tone. "Do you take me to be yours?"_

 _"I do."_

 _Leonardo laces our fingers together as he leans forward. His lips are puckered, and yet, he's clearly surprised as I smash my mouth against his. He kisses back instantly, pushing his tongue past my teeth. I let go of his hands, culling his face instead._

 _Casey whistles._

 _Mikey lets out a 'woo-hoo!'_

 _Karai laughs._

 _Donnie chokes back tears of joy._

 _And I kiss him._

 _And I hold him._

 _And I love him._

 _Today._

 _Tomorrow._

 _Forever._

* * *

I wonder if he's cold, sleeping alone, in a bed meant for two. I wonder if he lays on my pillow, just so he can inhale my scent as he sleeps.

Or maybe, I think, he doesn't sleep in our bed. Maybe he's downstairs, caressing a steaming mug of coffee, curled up into the corner of the couch, with a book in his hand and a blanket covering his shivering form as he fights back sleep. Maybe he doesn't want to sleep, because there's a sliver of a chance that I'll come home, and he doesn't want to miss me.

I know the truth, though. That I'm only thinking about all of this because I desperately need him here with me, here for me. We shouldn't be apart, much less in the midst of a fight. We should resolve our issues, the way we always have since we first got together. I don't want things to go back to the way they were when we were young, when we saw each other as brothers. Back then, we would fight for days on end, and we never resolved a thing. We just forgot about the instance. No, we didn't forgive. We just accidentally forgot.

Accidentally.

I'm beginning to think that's all my us; an accident. Every step I've taken, every move I've made.

I roll over, looking at the empty spot beside me. I'm in one of the many guest bedrooms in Donatello's home, sleeping alone in a queen bed. Out of habit, I leave a spot empty, for my husband. I need to get it in my head that he's not coming.

It's hard to sleep without him. Hell, it's hard to live without him. He completes me, makes me whole. He's the key part of my existence, I need him like earth-dwellers need oxygen.

He isn't here, though. My oxygen is gone.

And in slowly losing hope.

I'm slowly drifting into a fatal nothingness.

* * *

With you, went so much of me.

— Unkown


	5. Chapter 5

Donatello wakes me for breakfast, something I hadn't exactly been expecting, despite the fact that he's prepared three meals a day for the two of us to dine on for nearly a week. I find it peculiar, and almost want to say something about his sudden actions. Then, a thought comes and I find myself thinking, "he's just lonely out here, all by himself. He enjoys your company, that's all. Nothing else to it." So I shut my trap, never bothering to question his motherly acts.

He reads a book while he eats, and I have a paper sitting beside me. I sketch, taking brief breaks to scoop another forkful of hash browns into my mouth. The house is utterly silent until a sharp knock on the door dares to disturb the quiet. "I'll get it," Donnie offers as he marks his page.

I drop my pencil and set my fork back on my plate. The door is unlocked and pulled open. "Leo, I didn't know you would be stopping by. Would you like to come in?" Eyes widening, I clenched my teeth and silently curse at my little brother for being so kind. I don't want my husband here right now, I'll approach him when I'm ready.

"No, thank you. I just wanted to ask how he's been doing?" Leonardo's voice is lower than usual, and there's a scratch to his words, making him sound ragged. I furrow my brow, fixating my gaze on the wooden table. Damn him, for being so polite to my brother. Fuck him, for caring so much about me.

Donatello hesitates to reply, I can sense his anxiousness, even from the next room over.

"He's a little distant. Been thinking of you, I'm sure." Donnie speaks quietly. He knows for a fact that I'm listening. He doesn't want me to hear this part. "And, look, I don't exactly know what went down between you two, but I do know that he's sorry for it."

I stand up, creeping over towards the wall. The open doorway makes the hallway seem fairly close. As I lean my shell against the wall, I slide slowly down towards the floor. I could turn the corner if I wanted, I could look him in the eye and flash a sly smirk. Watch as he gets flustered.

I don't move, though, I just sit there, listening through the silence, intently. Am I stupid to say I heard a sniffle? Am I obsessive to say that I could practically see those hot, wet tears lining his sapphire eyes? Am I dramatic to say I could feel his pain? I hope not. I hope I'm just in love.

"We both said shit, nothing we meant, though. I guess I just figured he'd have come around by now, with it being nearly a week, ya know?" There's sorrow in his voice, it weighs his words down, like an anchor on a sail boat.

"Shh . . . Leo, it's alright. Raphael is just a little, well, stubborn. He'll come around," Donnie's soothing tone is calming, soft like silk, reassuring as a glass of wine. I can imagine that he's hugging Leonardo, letting my husband bury his tear-drenched face in the crook of his neck. Lord, what I wouldn't do to trade places with my little brother right now.

"I know, I know that and you're right. He will cave in, I have no doubts. But how long will it take?!" Desperation. Frustration. A longing stronger than any emotion ever to exist. Pure. "I want him back with me, right now. I want him in my arms. Why won't he just come home?"

"H-he's in the kitchen. I can go grab him if you'd like?" The creak of a floorboard is indication of Donatello's movements. The house shifts.

I tense up, suddenly ridged as I hug my knees against my chest. Don't come . . . Don't come . . .

"No, really, Donnie, it's fine. Raphael just needs some space. And I'm willing to give it to him. I'm not going to make him do anything he isn't ready for." The sympathy and enlightenment in my husbands gentle voice is beyond mesmerizing.

I think back to all of the times he said things like that; "I'm not going to make you do anything you aren't ready for." Surprisingly, I've come up with a long list of events that he's spoken that selfless line at.

When we came out to the family—he said we could wait a little longer if I'd wanted. He did all of the talking.

When we officially started our relationship—he wanted me to be a 100% positive that I was okay with us dating. He let me make the first move.

When we first had sex—he didn't want to hurt me, didn't want to put me in an uncomfortable position if I wasn't willing. He let me top.

Whenever we would out the champagne or wine or vodka—he knew that alcohol was a touchy subject for me, and he didn't want me to feel pressured. He let me call the shots; literally.

Throughout all of our relationship, he's respected me more than anyone ever has in my entire life. It just makes me fall harder for him.

Leonardo leaves after a few more questions. Have I been taking my meds? Have I cut? Have I attempted suicide? Have I been acting strange?

Donnie answers every question with all honesty, and after a heartfelt goodbye, my little brother drags himself back into the kitchen. He sits beside me.

He doesn't have to ask if I listened in on the meant-to-be-private conversation, hence, he wastes no time getting straight to the point.

"You need to go home to him." Short and simple. Delectable, no, reasonable, maybe.

"I don't need to do anything." He is right, though, much to my own dismay. I should go home to husband, I should resolve the brawl we've so willingly taken to fighting. I need to put out this withering fire. Once and for all.

"But you should." Donatello heaves a distraught sigh and buries his face in the palms of his hands. "You didn't see him, Raph. The bags under his eyes, the slumped posture, the hollowness throughout his entire form. He looked so lost, so empty. All because he doesn't have you."

My brother departs, leaving me hanging. He doesn't wait for a response, he isn't the one for me to answer to.

Leo is.

* * *

The house is exactly as I left. A shattered picture frame bythe front door—my fist had punctured the glass on my way out last week.

I pick the frame up off of the ground and turn it right side up. I smile at the picture of me and my husband, kissing in the meadow, sealing our marriage. I'd do anything to go back to that day.

He's in the kitchen, an empty bottle of vodka in his hand. His head rests on the counter top, drool slipping out of the cracks between his lips. His snores fill the room.

Frowning, I narrow my eyes at the alcohol, disapproval bubbling in the pits of my soul. We only drink on occasion; our anniversary, his birthday or mine. Sometimes, even, if we're in a sexual mood we pop the champagne and take turns chugging it over steamy sex. Never, though, have we straight up drank for no reason whatsoever, much less alone and when we're fighting.

I draw closer to my slumbering husband, my arm extended as I take the Smirnoff away from him. Passing by his slumped form, walking to the garbage, I notice a small box. It was hidden beneath his left arm, tucked to where I could just barely see it. Grunting, I snatch the package away from Leonardo.

Cigarettes.

He'd gotten into my cigarettes.

Glancing over at the tray on the windowsill, I examine it. Sure enough, it's overflowing. The box is empty. I growl.

This is completely out of character for Leo. Drinking, sure, he does it sometimes. But boozing on Smirnoff, washing down the entire bottle without a companion to share with, is something on a completely different level. And smoking? What was he thinking? He knows how terrible cigarettes can be, he scolds me enough about it. Even more, he knows how hard it is to quit. I've tried so many times. I've failed so many times.

I carry my husband upstairs, to our bedroom. Laying him down on the bed, I pull the blankets over his body. He looks beautiful when he sleeps—even when he's hungover. I press the faintest of kisses to his forehead.

Almost by magic, his eyelids flutter open, revealing those dashing sapphire orbs that I haven't gazed into in an eternity.

"Your home?" He asks, his voice a hum.

I nod, a blank expression masking every emotion I feel. No giddiness or excitement or flirt or frustration or desperation. A simple flat line mouth and a featureless set of emerald eyes.

"Are you going to leave me again?" His follow up question clenches my heart.

I shake my head.

"I'm sorry that I drove you away." Leonardo's voice is sincere, something that I don't put lightly. His honesty stands out against the lies of the world. A silver star in an empty Galaxy.

I shake my head, protest in my words as I argue, "You didn't drive me away." When a oh-so-clearly non convinced expression meets my words, I continue on. "Fear drove me away."

Leonardo reaches his hand out to caress my cheek. "What are you afraid of?"

"The end of us."

His eyes light up the dark, cold room around us. A sapphire stream pours into me, cleanses me. I didn't realize how much I really needed this contact until I found it after losing it.

Leonardo's hand is rough against my baby soft skin. Or maybe my cheek is rough against his silk skin. I can never tell the difference;who's perfect and who's damaged? It's like the concept of right or wrong; through one set of eyes their actions are good, pure gold, but through another's, their actions are disastrous, evil.

Wearing a small smile, one that promises a lifetime of happiness of comfort, Leonardo scoots back, making for an open space on the bed. He doesn't have to tell me what to do next. I sit beside him. He laid his head on my lap and dares to close his eyes as I begin to toy with his mask tails.

"There will never be an end to us, Raphael." He looks relaxed, with his head on my thighs and his hands on his chest. He looks like he's gonna fall asleep.

I bite back an opened-mouth grin, instead settling for a faint smirk. Not that he can see, not that he would care.

Gently, I pull the cobalt blue mask off of my husbands face. He looks natural, younger, and above all else, more heavenly without the bandana.

Urged by a simple dare I seem to have spoken to myself through my mind, I lean down, and press the sweetest of kisses to the tip of his snout. "I'm sorry I left you."

A tooth smile scares away the straight face he wears. He opens his eyes, allowing only for the slightest bit of sapphire to come seeping through. The darkness thins against in the sudden light. "I'm sorry I didn't follow after you."

I rest my hand on his cheek and pucker my lips, moving towards him once more. He kisses me back.

His mouth is wet against mine, and as I shift my head, trying to find the best angle to go in from, his tongue slithers into my mouth. I moan.

They're right when they say that you never know how much someone means to you until you lose them. I lost Leonardo for a week, and those seven days we spent apart made my life a living hell. I still have the burn marks from the immense agony I'd dealt with.

But I've found him now. I won't ever let him go. Because he's my world. My sun. My moon. My star. My galaxy. My everything.

So I pull off of my lap and into my arms. I rest my chin on his shoulder and hold him in a tight embrace.

"I love you," I murmur.

"I love you more." His breath is hot against my neck, warming me up a hundred degrees. My eyes are growing heavier by every second I spend in his heavenly arms.

"I love you most." I place a quick peck on his shoulder.

Leo draws back slightly, resting his forehead on mine. A diligent gaze is set in his eyes as we stare at each other, inhaling the same air, exhaling at the same time.

I can't help but feel giddy at the shared eye contact. I've never been quite so sure as to why I find his eyes to be so calming, so relaxing, so reassuring, but I do, nonetheless. If there was only one thing I could ever look into for the rest of my life, it would be these sapphire orbs.

"Will you stay?" His whisper is barely audible against the bed creak as we slip beneath the covers.

He snuggles up against me, curling into a ball like a child, desperate for his mother's comfort.

I kiss the crown of his headband hold him tight against me. "I won't let go," is all I have to say; or so I feel.

Perhaps I should've told him that I'm realizing now that we are perfect and as long as we're together, our lives will be nothing short of happy. I should tell him that I've decided that I, too, want children to call our own. A family.

I should tell him.

But he's already fast asleep.

In the comfort of my arms.

* * *

We're on the porch swing, facing each other as we lean on either end of the chair. Our knees are arched underneath a long blanket. We each caress our own mug of coffee.

"We should probably talk . . ," my husband trails off, his words thinning into nothing but a faint memory.

The sun is rising just beyond the horizon, making for the grass—wet with morning dew—to glisten brightly, rebelling against the falling darkness. Last night, Leonardo and I laid in each other's arms; his head was on my plastron, just below my neck, and I pulled me close, whispering sweet words as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

We woke early this morning—most likely because we fell asleep in the evening—so we decided we'd chat over coffee and a morning sunrise.

"I think it'd be best if we started where this began, and make our way from there, don't you?" Leo nods along with my words, urging me to start the conversation. "When I went into the woods, I should have told you I was leaving, and because I didn't, it should have been all the more reason to be honest about what I was doing. My lying wasn't fair to you; at all."

Leonardo peaks at me over the brim of his lavender coffee mug, which is tilted back as he takes a sip. "Why did you go to, I mean, ya know, Splinter, when you could've just come to me?" He speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully and with a clear mind. He doesn't want his question to rub off in the wrong way.

"Same reason you went to him when he was alive." I lift my head, letting my gaze wander away from my steaming black coffee and up to something prettier, something more worthwhile. My husband.

The sun is an outburst as it rises. It's rays fly at anything and everything that it can lay it's flaming fingers on, Leonardo being one of them. It seems to me that he's the center of attention. By the way the sun is brightest behind him—his silhouette is all I see—I am beyond convinced that he has the sun resting in the palm of his hand, exactly how he has me. Both me and the sun alike seem to revolve around him.

His eyes are delicate, and I can physically feel his focus. It's nice, knowing that I have someone who's willing to pay attention.

"Because he's our father, and it's a well known fact that dads listen to their children; no matter their age." There's a look on Leo's face, the kind that tells you to keep going, to continue what you were saying. I don't want to say the next part, but I vowed honesty when I married him and I've recently learned—the hard way—that if you aren't honest to the ones you love, then bad things will arise. "I guess I just wanted someone who would listen."

I sound ridiculous, telling him, my husband, that I went to talk to my father's grave when I wanted someone to listen to me, rather than coming to him. I half expect Leonardo to laugh at me, so when he doesn't, a sort of relief seeps in.

He nods in understanding, to my surprise. "I respect your choices, though, of course, I would prefer you tell me about at least some of your problems. Maybe not everything, just something. I want to help you get past your challenges as much as you want to help me get past mine."

Blushing, I dart my eyes away from him and back down to my coffee. I attempt to hide my flustered face.

"When you got home, I shouldn't have brought such a big fight upon us. You have every right to want some alone time, and I should respect that. I suppose I was just jealous." I cut Leonardo off before he can move onto the next matter.

"Jealous? Why would you be jealous of me spending some time in solitude?"

Leo flinches and his eyes widen in a mixture of distraught and confusion, as if he was as shocked at hearing his own words as I am. He fumbles for a moment, tripping over word she could but doesn't want to say. He tries to find the perfect answer.

"Sometimes, I think that the longer you spend time away from me, the more at risk our relationship is," my husband whispers with a frail voice. His eyes are narrowed into slits and his lips quiver, not in a sense that he's about to cry, but rather, because he's drowning in anxiety. Did he say the right thing? Did he screw up?

I'm sad to say that Leonardo shows all of the symptoms of a mild case of anxiety.

He's constantly nervous about one thing or another, whether it be small or large. Even silly little things set him off, things like not being to Donnie's house on time on Friday nights.

Some days are worse than others. There are times that he gets so nervous that he trembles, and sweats, and breathes heavily. I get so scared. How do I calm him when my presence isn't enough? Nothing I say or do ever makes a difference. Still, I try to calm him.

Every once in a great while Leonardo will have a dream about the two of us breaking up or one of us dying. He'll think about the dream for days on end. "What if it's a sign? What if we aren't meant to be together?" This is what he said last time he had one of these dreams, three weeks ago.

He'd been sitting in our bed still, watching me as I got ready in the bathroom. His knees were bent as he hugged them tight against his chest. Frowning, I turned to him. "Don't you dare say that. We are meant to be together, and that's is a fact."

I'm always stern when it comes to reassurance. He's the same way for me and my depression. We've both learned that a strict, solemn tone is enough convincing needed.

Swiftly, I fold my legs—Indian style—and set my coffee down on the porch, Leonardo's with it.

I grab my husbands hands and press an affectionate kiss to each of his palms. "You're scared that'll leave you?" I hold his hands against my mouth. His flesh muffles my words.

Leo nods, a grief-stricken expression on his innocent little face.

Without his mask, he looks young, small, unguarded and even a little defenseless. He looks natural and untouched.

I've decided recently what animal matches his personality; a deer. Fierce, strong-willed, and a fighter when he needs to be, he's mightier than a wall; a stag. On his good days, he could take down an entire army with the flick of a finger. When he's with me, someone he loves, he transforms into something simpler, smaller, gentler; like a doe. Loving and happy and enticing. He's exactly what a fox like me as been hunting for.

I won't hunt this prey, though.

"Well, my dear, do I have some good news for you," I try for an elegant smile, aiming it at him. He practices one of his own, attempting to look cheerful, to cover up his worry with a mask. He isn't quite there yet.

Feeling playful, I lean forward, pressing against him. With my lips perched next to his open ear, I announce, "I am never, ever, ever, ever gonna leave you. Never ever."

He giggles when I place a an unexpected kiss to the crook of his neck.

"I like it when you giggle."

Leo smirks seductively. "I like it when you flirt."

We a share another kiss, a longer one, on the lips. Paint spreads from his colorful mouth to mine. The Reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples and pinks fill in for the darkness of my soul. He pours a rainbow into me, replacing my sorrow with giddy.

Happiness spreads from his finger tips to mine as our hands curl around each other.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you most."

* * *

Even if I had a million reasons to leave you, I would still look for the one to stay.

— Unknown


	6. Chapter 6

The most beautiful kinds of people are the ones whose eyes widen with passion and glory as they speak of something they love oh-so much.

Leonardo's voice is light, a blissful charm on a bracelet of enchantment. I listen to my husband with ears as perked as a mountain. I don't ever want him to stop talking.

We sip ice cold lemonade while sitting on a cliff that stops short just above a lake. The July sun is bright and hot today, beaming down on us and our picnic. I bite off a chunk of my BLT sandwich.

"Just imagine it, Raphael, three—no wait, two, little kids to call our own." Leonardo babbles onward, suggesting names and activities we could indulge in with our children's company. "We would be such a happy family," he finishes with a smile plastered on his face.

Amusement flows through me and a grin stretches from one end of my face to the other. I recently told him that I, too, fancy the idea of children, and he hasn't talked about anything else since.

Sighing softly, I put my drink back down on the red and white plaid blanket. "Leo, you know I love the thought of us having a family as much as you, but there isn't a chance in hell that we could produce kids. We're both men, in case you haven't noticed." I hate myself for raining on his parade like this—I do it every time we venture onto the subject of having kids of our own, and the guilt is more extreme with every reminder. Honesty is all we've ever asked of each other, but now, he's asking me for more; he's asking for an impossibility. I'm torn between being truthful, tearing his hopes to shreds, and the counter, being false, tending to the flowers he's planted, the flowers that are his dreams.

My husbands face drops, his smile weighing down into a deep frown. His eyes go from fluttering, sapphire butterflies to an incandescent fire with dancing Brandeis blue tongues. "When we married, we vowed to forget about ourselves and focus on each other's dreams, wants, and desires, did we not?"

Leo stares at me with slightly narrowed eyes. It's makes him look strict, and far beyond solemn. His words are scolding, he talks to me like I'm a child. I wish he could see past his stubbornness long enough to see that I'm only doing this to protect him.

I nod, a grumble sounding from the pits of my throat.

Leonardo's expression alleviates and he reaches for my empty hand. "Well this is something I want, badly."

Biting my lip, I avoid his eyes, letting my gaze lie anywhere else. Right now it's on the lake below. "Sweetheart, I want to give this to you, I really do. I want to have kids not only for your sake, but for mine as well. We can't, though. It's an impossibility."

"Anything is impossible until somebody does it." My head jerks upward and I lock eyes with my husband. He crawls the small space between us, stopping short of my lap.

My hand is engulfed in his, but when he brings it close to his lips, he unties our fingers. Now holding onto me by my palm, he kisses each of my fingers. He never drops my intent filled stare.

"We achieved so many impossible goals that I'm honestly wondering where the hell you got the idea to use that as a fair point. You, of all people, should know that you can't call quits until you give it your all." And we're back to square one, bringing up my cutting yet again. Only, maybe this isn't just about the cuts. I have feeling that my husbands tender indication digs deeper, landing to my many sorts of self harm.

Leonardo is right to say that I don't give up until I've succeeded, do to the many times I've made accomplishments. Ending my constant binge on drinking and cutting, as well as mellowing my depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and insomnia are just a few of the goals I've achieved. Of course, there are many, like quitting smoking, that I've yet to complete.

I turn away, as to hide my frown from Leo. He doesn't object to my actions, in fact, he takes to comforting me. His thumb rubs relieving circles on my palm.

"Those were just small things, though," my voice hollow and barely audible, a mere squeak against the world. I hate to simplify my sins when they're more evil than they appear. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, babe, I'm saying it because I don't want to give you false hope. It'll only hurt in the end. Trust me."

Leonardo chuckles, smiling down at my hand in his. "You've only ever wanted to keep me safe from harm," he says it like a fact, with meaning. There isn't a speak of curiosity in his being. He's an expert when it comes to me.

I shake my head, a light hearted expression replacing the grim one I'd been sporting a few short minutes ago. "You want the same for me," I say it like its nothing, even though, we both know it's something. And that something is our undying love for each other. "I'm gonna find a way for us to have kids, Leo."

Leonardo sits on my lap and wraps his arms around my neck. That enchanting grin has reappeared and it remains, even as he kisses me; hard. His lips smash against mine and he caresses my face. Those beautiful blue eyes of his—painted like the beginning of summer—are the first things I see when our kiss breaks.

We seemingly forget our lunch, ignore the incoming storm clouds and the thunder in the distance, as well as the raging sound of waves slapping against the sandy shore. His hands are warm against my skin and that's all I can focus on as we breathe the same air. He, Leonardo da Vinci Hamato, is my favorite person, place, time, and space. He's the better half of me and that's all I need to know.

"Thank you," he whispers, the tips of his gentle fingers brushing against my rough and jagged lips. He doesn't have to ask me to promise, he knows that my word is what I'm good for.

In replace of a reply, I place a quick kiss on his cheek. "Now come on, you can't expect me to jump into that lake by myself," I wiggle my brow mischievously.

Chuckling, Leonardo stands and offers me a hand. "I've been waiting for you to ask."

We run, over the ledge.

We plummet, hand in hand.

We scream, three simple words, "I love you!"

In perfect synchronization.

We land, in each other's arms, and the water ripples around us.

We're together, in each other's arms, our favorite place, time, and space.

* * *

It's pouring by the time we make it home, thunder rumbling in the distance. Lightning ignites the sky with a flash and crackling. I struggle with the knob, my hands are wet and they slip when I try to turn the metal. Leonardo helps me, as usual.

We stumble through the door, tripping over each other's feet. He falls, pushing me down with him, and we land with our plastrons pressed against each other, our eyes met and locked.

I lose sight of myself in the reflection of his powerful gaze, turning down corridor after corridor after corridor, urging myself to find him. Him, the real Leonardo. Not the outside, physical one, but instead, the inner, spiritual one. I search for his soul; I'm dying to happen upon a treasure chest of long-buried secrets of guilty pleasures and mistakes. I crave to understand his every thought, to sift through it, to pick out every minor detail.

His mask is drenched, causing for chilly raindrops to descend from the fabrics, to land on my face, on my bare, vulnerable skin. I shift my hands from his hips to the back of his head so I can untie the bandana. It falls to the floor in one graceful motion.

My husbands lips are parted, as if he is ready to take me in. His hands are on the ground, balancing us, at either side of my body. He bites the inside of his cheek, anticipation spreading through him like a virus. It makes his skin glow with uncertainty.

I know that he's waiting on me to make a move, to wrap an arm around his waist and place my opposite hand on the back of his head to pull him down to my lips. I want to do this, I want to kiss his fine set of lips, the ones that taste like sweetly salted Carmel. Sadly, I cannot bring myself to do it. I'm lost in his eyes, forever wandering through empty halls of nothingness. Where is he? Where is the Leonardo I'm searching for? The one who's broken and in need of fixing, the one who's been hiding behind this porcelain smile; the reality behind the mask. I can't find him by kissing him, only by gazing into those precious eyes.

Leonardo's stare shifts away from me, and a heavy looking frown settles upon his face. "I'm sorry," he murmurs as he begins to lift himself off of me.

I make a move.

In a split second, I have one hand on the bottom of his shell—just above his ass—and the other caressing his neck.

Neither of us say a word as we lean, drawing closer and closer. But when those pleasurable lips connect with mine, I feel like I'm falling. Like I'm the raindrop descending from his mask, like I'm the leaves drifting away from the tree, like I'm the guilty angel dropping down from heaven.

Our mouths part, and I dare to take in every inch of him. His dashing eyes, curvy nose, panting mouth, slightly curved brow. His edgy hips, well-shown collar bone, muscular arms, faultlessly structured legs. His body spells perfection.

The air we share is hot and rather stuffy, but I couldn't care any less.

"Are you comfortable?" I whisper as he leans down, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. His skin is warm and smells absolutely wonderful.

"Of course I am, I'm with you." His hands have traveled up my body, now messaging my biceps. "Although, we might be better off doing this in the bedroom, don't you think?"

"I couldn't agree more, my love."

He lifts his body off of mine, and when he's standing, he offers me a hand.

Up in the bedroom, Leonardo pulls me down onto the bed with him, a sexual gleam igniting his sapphire eyes. Our plastrons meet and so do our lips in a passionate kiss.

He's greedy as he makes out with me, switching between many types of kisses. He sucks my bottom lip one minute, and the next his tongue is exploring my mouth, trailing over my teeth, battling with my own tongue.

We're a hot mess, two bodies tangled together. I stroke his thighs in an attempt to seduce him, while at the same time, my lips trail down his neck.

Leonardo moans my name, his eyes fluttering shut when he slams his head back onto his pillow. I smirk, my eyes slightly narrowed as I wiggle my brow. "I could pleasure you much more than this," I murmur in a low voice. My hands work their way inward from his thighs, aiming towards his cloaca. "I could fuck you harder than ever before, if you let me."

My husband opens his eyes and tilts his head. "Not now, please."

I nod in understanding, though, deep down, I'm highly disappointed. I can already feel a boner coming on, meaning I oh-so badly want to make sweet love to him. But I back off, as usual, just like we always do when one of us doesn't want sex.

"We'll just have to settle for kissing then, hm?" Our mouths connect like our hands, lacing together perfectly, as if we've been doing this for years. And we have been doing this for years.

For five years we've been kissing each other hundreds of times a day. We've memorized every crease, every dip, every scratch. We know just the right angles to make each other moan. We're experts when it's comes to kissing one another.

Even when we first got together, when we were shy and cautious, our kisses were delectable. I never could quite get enough of him.

Leo rolls us over, and I'm on the bottom now, with his beautiful body leaning over mine. His hands are on either side of my body as he looms, and a sexy smirk is on his lips. "I love you, husband."

I gaze into his eyes, the ones that hold the galaxy in their tiny frames. I want to stare only in them, forever. I'd rather die than not be able to see his eyes everyday of my life, even if it's only for a split second. "I love you, husband," I repeat, not because I have to, but because I want to. It's the truest thing I have ever spoken. I love Leonardo.

His stomach growls, a low sound that ripples throughout the room. "We should get you something to eat," I whisper, grinning, while rubbing his plastron with both of my hands.

"I already have my eyes on a delicious meal." Leo dips his head down so he can nibble on my lower lip. His tongue traces the opening of my mouth. "Sadly, you aren't edible." His flirt tastes like a cherry Popsicle, something that I could never get sick of.

I kiss him, briefly. Then again, longer. And again, as if time is nonexistent. We don't have anywhere to be tonight, hence, I don't see any reason why I can't spend hours making out with my husband.

When his stomach rumbles for a second time, I break our kiss. "Come on, you need to eat," there's a faint chuckle hidden beneath my words.

"But I don't wanna get out of bed," Leonardo pouts with puppy dog eyes. "I want us to stay here, together."

"You know what we should do?" I ask, completely ignoring my husbands pleas.

"What's that?"

"We should go over to Donnie's house and make dinner for him, as a way of making up for not being at his place last Friday," I suggest. Last week, me and Leonardo stayed in for the night. It was the first time that we didn't venture out to my little brother's humble home for a Friday night meal. Even when we all lived together—me, Leo, Donnie, Mikey, and Karai—Friday's were the only day we could be positive that everyone would be gathered at the same table in the same room for supper. I feel bad for missing it last week.

"So now you're asking me cross the forest for food?" Leonardo raises his brow sarcastically. "Donnie insisted that we didn't go last week; he wanted to give us time to make up after our brawl, you know that. Besides, we'll be there tomorrow."

Leo kissed me again and I didn't object.

I wish I could tell him about the feeling in my gut, the one that's telling me to go visit my little brother. It feels like there's something wrong, something bad happening. I won't feel better until I know for sure that Donatello is safe.

"Leo, please? This isn't just for Donnie, it's for me, too. I barely hang out with him anymore, and it can't be healthy for him to live in isolation."

Leonardo gets off of me, sitting beside me instead, with his legs crossed over each other. He doesn't put a complete stop to the affection he offers me, though. His fingers trace hearts over my plastron. "Well, if we do go, will we stay over night?"

I nod my head. "You and I can help around the house tomorrow, maybe go hunting for dinner. The forest around Donnie's house has a lot of deer, perhaps we'll get lucky and happen upon a few of those. Tonight, though, we can fix up a dinner for three, play a board game or watch tv afterwards, and then it'll be me and you in the bedroom," I finish with a mischievous smirk.

Leonardo chuckles, an angelic sound that's music to my ears. "Fine, we'll go. But we're not having sex at Donnie's house," he says strictly, pointing a finger at me accusingly.

I throw my hands up in a playful surrender. "Whatever you say, Cap."

My husband smiles when he presses a quick peck to my lips. "Alright, let's just hurry up, okay?"

We race each other downstairs, zipping through the halls, playfully shoving. When we end up in the kitchen we're panting and out of breath.

"Good try," I get out, leaning onto the counter as I try to catch my breath, "but I totally won that round, don't you agree?"

Leonardo wraps his arms around me from behind, a pure rumbling in the pits of his throat. "We'll call it a tie." He nuzzled into the back of my neck, smiling against my skin. His bare face, seemingly empty without a mask, is smooth, barely a scratch to detect. "So, what should we bring for dinner?"

I try not to move too much, not wanting to move him. I like the feeling of his body against mine, I like the way he embraces me. Although, I do reach up to hold the hands he had placed over my plastron. "I'm sure he has more food than he knows what to do with; we should be fine cooking with his food."

"Okay. Should we go then?" Smirking, I turn around to face my husband. He doesn't draw back, if anything, he comes closer.

We lace our fingers together like sewing two pieces of fabric to one another. Our hands are held between our two plastrons. "I love you, Leo," I whisper in a sincere tone.

"I love you, too, Raph," Leonardo replies with a soft expression.

We were just heading to the door when there was a sharp knock. Exchanging curious expressions, my husband and I approached the front door, him leaning against me for support. Our hands held each other.

Donnie stands as our visitor, an anxious look in his burgundy eyes. "I need you guys at my house. Now."

* * *

I crave you in the most innocent form. I crave to say goodnight and give you forehead kisses and to say that I adore you when you feel at your worst. I crave you in ways where I just want to be next to you and nothing more or less.

— Unknown


	7. Chapter 7

"What's going on? What happened?!" I demand in a distraught tone.

We're running through the first, bolting along the thickly cut pathways in the forest, heading towards Donatello's house. My little brother is biting his lip as he runs, his eyes scrunched slightly. I can tell by the way he moves that he's trying to get ahead of me, wanting to avoid conversation until we arrive at his house.

Leonardo runs beside me, falling back by a few paces. He's already out of breath and panting, making me want to lift him into my arms and carry him the rest of the way. I'm not surprised that he can't keep up with me; ever since we came up to the farm house he's stopped with his daily training. We have a punching back and mats and weapons racks down in the basement at home, all materials retrieved from the lair. Every morning I spend an hour or so down there—sometimes on nights where I can't sleep, as well. But Leonardo rarely joins me, he takes to sleeping in and cooking breakfast or doing yard work. He never hunts with me anymore, either. Sure, he still has the muscles he had as a sixteen year old, but they look so small compared to mine, which have nearly doubled in size since we left the city. I slow down my pace, not wanting to push my husband too hard.

"Last night, just as I was settling into bed, I heard howling in the yard. I could tell that it wasn't too far out in the distance, a hundred yards away at most, and it was far too loud to be a wolf or fox. So I grabbed my gun and went outside," Donatello's gaze is fixated on the thick brush around him, eyes landing anywhere but me. I'm fuming, I'm sure that's why he chooses to look away.

Why hell would he think it's okay to just run outside without first glancing out the window, or falling for help. Gun or not, the situation itself was beyond dangerous.

"What happened next, Donnie?" Leonardo asks calmly. He grabs my hand as the three of us slow down, having entered Donatello's yard.

"Well, I found out that the source of the noise was a mutant. An Arctic fox, to be precise."

"Lemme guess," I growl deeply, my eyes narrowed in disapproval, "you kept him."

"Her, actually. But, yes, I did. I've been tending to her wounds, checking up on her every few hours. I've barely left her bed side. Although, she did fall asleep, and that's when I came to get you two," my brother where's a warm smile as he wraps up his short story, clearly impressed with himself for helping someone get better. For the most part, anyhow.

"What's her name?" I'm not surprised that Leo is so curious, he's such a caring person. It's one of the reasons why I fell for him.

"That's why I brought you here, to talk with her, find out more information. I know how sweet you are with people, Leonardo," Donnie sends a genuine smile Leo's way.

"And me? Why am I here?" I feel a little unneeded, shoved aside, even. Why am I not part of the plan? Why am I always the third wheel?

Donatello glances at my out of the corner of his eyes. "Because I figured you wouldn't let your husband come over here without a bodyguard, given the situation.

My grip on Leo's hand tightens and I smirk, staring straight ahead. "Well, you're not wrong."

* * *

Donnie was right to refer to her as an arctic fox; her fur is white as snow, making her golden eyes stand out with a "pop." An elaborate shade of purple has been dyed into her thick coat, on her face, making her look like she's wearing a mask. It's only around her eyes and on her snout, though.

She's actually rather beautiful, a stunning figure of grace and serenity. Seemingly relaxed, she's willing to speak with Leonardo, to answer any question he asks.

My husband sits on a chair beside the Fox's bed, a kind grin on his face as he introduces himself. "Hello, my name is Leonardo, I'm Donatello's brother in law." Then, pointing to me at my place by the door, "And that's my husband, Raphael."

The girl chuckles, smirking wildly with narrowed eyes. She flashes her fangs. "You two are gay?" The way she asks makes us sound pathetic.

Leonardo nearly falls out of his chair at that, clearly unsettled by the rude question. He looks shaken, upset, even. He loves me as much as I love him, and if I'm angry about it, no doubt it, he's pissed.

I take a few steps forward, a deeply glare in my eyes. "Yeah, we are gay. And if you have a problem with that, so help me, I will bash your head—" I stop mid sentence, never to finish. Leonardo is sending me a warning glance, the kind that reads, "knock it off or get out."

Turning back around, Leo replaces my crude words with softer, lighter ones. "We both had a lot going on during our teen years, and we sought clarity in one another. Somewhere along the way, we fell in love." I inhale deeply, feeling blissful as my emerald eyes fall upon my husband beaming down at the wedding band clasped around his finger. "But enough about us; what's your name?"

"Alopex," Alopex's voice is scruff, sounding like she has a sore throat, perhaps from dehydration. She doesn't look all that good, come to mention it. There's patches of dirt all throughout her fur, and clots of blood have dried in the area surrounding a wound, which has been stitched up.

"Tell me, Alopex, where are you from? Do you have a family?" I can't help but adore my husbands calming nature. The way he speaks to her makes him sound like a professional therapist. He speaks to her like she is injured and in need of some help, not like she's weak and incapable of tending to herself.

"No, no family. I'm from New York City. I was a part of a clan called the Foot." Leonardo and I exchange fearsome looks, but neither do us interrupt, both mildly intrigued by this juicy confession. "The man in charge treated me like I was nothing more than a lapdog. So when I found out what he was really doing, he was berserk. I left shortly after—on my own will, he didn't force me to or anything." It was nearly impossible to stifle a chuckle at her last statement. I find it to be rather charming when she takes the time to defend herself.

"Well you came to the right place, Alopex. We've been fighting the foot for years."

"I take it you're the turtles everyone talks about?"

Leonardo looks over to me with amazement in his eyes. He speaks to me without a verbal words, instead with a keen expression. "Who ever woulda guessed they still talk about us?"

I shrug a response, trying to fight back a smile.

"Yeah, we're those turtles."

"Interesting," Alopex murmurs through a yawn. "I'm feeling quite exhausted. Do you suppose I could have some time alone?"

Leonardo nods, standing up from his chair. "Of course, we'll be just down the hall if you need us."

I open the door, letting Leo through first. I follow him out, but not before turning back to steal a glance at Alopex, first. She's already drifting into what I hope is a long, peaceful slumber. I don't need her waking up during this.

* * *

"So you're telling us that you rescued a former foot soldier, and dragged us all the way out here only to have Leo talk to her?" I spit at Donatello, my anger boiling like soup in a pot. If I wasn't furious before, then I am now.

"To be completely honest: yes."

We're in the kitchen, me, Leo, and Donnie. Leonardo is behind me, chopping up vegetables for a soup he's preparing. He puts forth not a word to the conversation rolling out before him, though, I'm near positive that he's listening in.

My little brother is sitting in a stool across the counter from me, mixing what seems to be random chemicals together without a sole purpose. I know there's a purpose, yet, I can't find a reason to care what it is.

"That was a dick move, Donatello," I hiss between clenched teeth and curled lips. I'm trying my absolute hardest not to explode but it's all growing to be too much.

"Says the guy who sucks dick every night," Donnie murmurs the sly comeback quietly, allowing his words to melt into his breath. I slam my fist against the counter.

"MY HUSBAND COULD'VE DIED AND YOUR'RE SITTING HERE PLAYING WITH GODDAMN FUCKING CHEMICALS!" I bellow, I scream, I yell, I rage. My eyes are wide with a flare so bright, and so disastrous, that a single corner-of-the-eye glance could burn down an entire city. I haven't felt this angry in a while, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the feeling.

Ever since we moved into the farm house, when I got back on my medication, when I stopped cutting for good, when I first held Leonardo in my arms as we slept, when I first started kissing him all through the night, and then again in the morning, I've been calm, collected, and overall happy. Over the years, I've only had a small handle of outbursts. And the best part? All of them could be solved with a quick chat and kiss from my husband, my lover, my salvation, my Leonardo. I hate to be cheesy, but he's always been the cure to bad days.

In spite of how much I thoroughly enjoyed being at bay, it feels nice to be a fireball of hatred. It tastes like a memory, a far away, distant one that I once cherished oh-so much. Basically, it's a guilty pleasure. And hell, am I feeling guilty for loving it so damn much.

"If I thought it wouldn't be safe do you really think I would've sent you in there? No, I wouldn't have. So shut the fuck up and quit complaining about could've been, and help me start thinking about what can be." Don stands up, mimicking my posture.

"Would the both of you settle down already? You're acting like children." Leonardo looks between us, a scolding expression settled upon his face. "Dinner's ready." He slides a bowl to each of us before setting his own down beside me.

For my husbands sake, I take a deep breath. Let it in, and let it out. I sit.

We eat in silence, Donnie still working on what I would guess to be his next big project. Under the table, Leonardo massages my hand, just as he always does when I'm upset. He knows how to cool me down. It works every time.

"So, Raphael, do you want to talk to Donnie about our, er, situation?" Leonardo talks awkwardly, in a somewhat hushed voice. It's too late now, though, because my little brother is staring at us with owl eyes.

"What situation?"

Leonardo doesn't drop eye contact with me as long as he talks, as if he were giving me permission to interrupt at anytime. "We want to have a family; kids. And, we were wondering if there was any possible way for us to do that? Surely you would know?"

Donnie sets his spoon down and pushes his bowl away. Folding his arms across the counter top, he goes all business on us. "You want kids, as if, to give birth?"

It's my turn to reply. I nod, "If that's possible."

My brother picks up his phone, and Leonardo tightens his grip on my hand, leaning into me for support. "It is possible, actually. It'd take a lot to get to it, and I'm not sure how efficient it would be, but we could try."

"We're willing to do anything for this, Donnie."

"Anything," I echo my husbands words, each syllable full of meaning and serenity.

"Well, I have a plan," a devilish smirk plays on Donnie's face, masking his true expression. He's almost unrecognizable, with a mischievous gleam in his burgundy eyes. "Here's what we do: the three of us venture into the city, and you two break into a hospital. On the maternal level, there should be a room full of shelves—baby formulas are stored there, but that isn't what we're looking for. In a freezer, there will be containers of ovaries—that's what we need. Steal a set of those, we come back here and I'll do surgery on whichever one of you intends on getting pregnant."

Breaking and entering, efficient.

Leonardo is beyond hopeful. "what if that doesn't work, though?"

"Then we adopt a couple turtles from a pet store and mutate them."

I look to my husband, my best friend, my soul mate, in search for an answer.

Stiffly, with a forced poker face, he nods.

* * *

I can do things you cannot, you can do things I cannot; together we can do great things.

— Mother Teresa


	8. Chapter 8

I drive, my hands sweaty against the warm leather of the steering wheel. We left Donatello's house half past eight and now we're only about 20 minutes away from Manhattan.

Immediately after we'd finished eating dinner, me, Donnie, and Leo came up with the finishing touches and minor details to our plan. Upon this, we left, on our way to steal the necessities to impregnate Leonardo. The expression on my husband's face was joyous, a look of glee.

"Make a left here, then drive straight for five miles," Donatello instructs from the seat beside me.

I do exactly as he says, but not without first stealing a glance at my husband, who sits just beyond my brother, on the other end of the bench. Leo's been quiet the entire drive, which is quite unlike him. I expected him to be a ball of light, to hum—perhaps even sing—along with the lyrics that slipped through the cracks in the car's stereo. His book isn't even open. He's merely staring out the window, his face haunted by a heavy grimace. It looked light an anchor, weighing down his beauty.

I wanted to reach over, to pat his knee or rub my hand up and down his thigh. Considering I was unable, I spoke instead. "You alright, Leo?"

Politely, Donatello sat back as far as he could, revealing a better picture of my husband. The former busied himself away on his phone, not wanting to be rude as to listening in on the conversation I'd lit a match to—it doesn't take a genius, though, to know that he would be absorbing each and every word like a sponge in water. The latter paid no attention to me, not offering even something as simple as a corner-of-the-eye glance. His eyes were fixated on the trees gliding past us. "I'm fine."

The words were an eerie version of reassurance, one that sent shivers running down my spine. I clenched the steering wheel harder, and dared to drive a little faster. I already couldn't wait to get home, and this journey has barely begun.

I could feel a set of eyes land upon me, but I could also tell that they were not Leonardo's, rather, my brother's.

Soft, burgundy orbs made my flesh burn with anticipation. I carved for him to break the silence so I wouldn't have to. For a moment or two, I even believed that he was about to argue with Leonardo and pressure him further about what was bothering him. Donnie didn't, in the end, because Leo decided to ask a question himself.

"Do either of you have a lighter, by any chance?" Leonardo was practically squirming in his seat, scratching the back of his neck and shutting his eyes so tight that his face seemed to come together in the center, creating wrinkle like patterns of his snout and cheeks.

"Lighter? Why do you need a-" then it dawned on me; cigarettes. "Leonardo da Vinci Hamato, I swear to god, if you have a pack of cigarettes on you, so help me I will-" My husband cuts me off, sitting forward, on the edge of his sit, looming over Donnie to get a closer look at me and my disgruntled expression. "You'll what," he demands, "hit me? Beat me like you did when we were kids?"

My voice takes a U turn, shifting from fury to denial in a matter of seconds. "No!" I bellow dramatically. I can't take it anymore, I need to embrace him, hold him in my arms, calm him down.

Donatello seems to understand what I'm doing as I pull off to the side of the road, because the second the van is parked he's taken over my seat behind the wheel, and I'm sitting beside Leonardo.

I wrap my arms around my soulmate, pulling him close. He rests his head on my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck. "You know I would never hurt you, right?" Disbelief floods my voice; I never would've thought I'd have to speak these words, I assumed they went without saying.

"Yeah, I know. It's just-" he pauses, searching for the right words to describe the feeling in his gut, to paint the picture to me, explaining what's driving his need for a smoke.

His heart beat was fast when I first grabbed hold of him. He matches his breathing rate with mine, like he always does during one of his panic attacks. In for three seconds, out for three seconds. It calms him when I'm unable.

Leonardo doesn't finish what he's saying. He knows that I understand what's unrolling before me; a broken man with no sense of direction. His anxiety has taken over the better part of him tonight, sending him into a nervous fit.

"Donnie," I call out, "do you have any anxiety relief pills in here?"

Turning around to face my brother, I hold my husband's hand by pulling his arm around my waist. Leo hugs me tightly from behind, kissing the back of my neck delicately. With his right hand folded in mine, his left clasps around my bicep.

He's trying to calm himself down, focusing on my body as a way of pushing the overpowering anxiety aside.

"There should be some in the glove box; if you just fold your seat down." Nodding, I scoot back, scooping Leonardo onto my lap. He makes himself comfortable by tucking his face into the crook of my neck, and dropping his arms around my lower body.

I don't hesitate to forcefully shove the seat down and rip the glove box open, despite Donatello's scolding. I ignore my brother, fixating my attention on the task at hand; finding anxiety relief pills.

Leonardo mouths words against my skin, his breath hot, sending goosebumps rippling down my arms and legs. I can only pick out of a few of words; love, family, and child. I bite back an amused smirk.

"Got 'em," I announce while fishing the bottle out.

Leonardo slides off of me and back to leaning against the window. I fold my seat back, but still, I sit close to my husband. Pouring two tablets into my hand, I give them to Leo, smiling at him when he gratefully swallows them, taking a sip of a drink only after they've disappeared down his throat.

"These won't affect the pregnancy, right?" Leonardo asks suddenly, his voice drowning in concern.

"Of course not, you and your baby will be fine," Donnie answers reassuringly.

I glare at the road ahead, frowning deeply at my companions words. Leo hasn't even had the ovaries surgically put in him, much less is he pregnant. I don't like how they assume that it'll work, because if there's one thing we've learned over our 21 years of life, it's that things don't always go according to plan.

* * *

It's early morning when Donnie begins the surgery. The sun is rising beyond the horizon, birds awakening with voices that shatter the silence we've slept through. Flowers are opening in the gardens, and grass is inching upward as the day promises rain.

I sit at the kitchen counter, alone, for a longtime, caressing a mug of coffee. I'm nervous as I wait to be called into the lab. There's no way for me to know what's going on in the basement, where my brother and husband are locked away.

Donatello had given Leonardo the choice to have me at his bedside during the procedure, or upstairs and out of the way. For some reason, one I will never begin to understand, Leonardo chose for me to leave. I understood, of course, because if I were in his place, I wouldn't want to have Leonardo watch me be cut open and sewed back up. Still, I wish I was holding his hand right now, there to take his mind off of the pain.

I'm not completely alone up here, on the main level, though. Alopex paces around, her long claws scrapping against the floors as she moves swiftly through the house, exploring every room, studying every corner.

When she reaches the kitchen, I don't look up. Her eyes are pouring into me, like lemonade into an empty glass. For a moment, everything is utterly still. Alopex stands in the doorway, studying my rigid body intently, as if even the slightest flinch is noteworthy. I sit at the counter, aware that I am being watched, while holding a steaming mug and eyeing the knife shed, trying decide if the blades are my friend or foe.

I haven't taken my antidepressants yet, and I doubt I'll get around to it today. They make my mind cloudy on days like today, when the hollowness of my heart hits too close to home. The medication doesn't pull me out of the water in drowning in, but rather, lays me just above the surface, where in surrounded by fog. I live in the void between okay and not okay, I'm lost in the walls dividing two completely different rooms.

If I'm being honest, though, I like the feeling of raw emotions. It sends shivers running down my spine, fills me with a sense adrenaline that feeds only my mind, rather than my physical form. My body isn't running, my mind is. Racing. Bolting. Sprinting. An almost foreign feeling to me, remembered only from my teen years.

"Raphael, is it?" Alopex finally makes a proper entrance. Walking in from behind, I can't see her until she sits down on the stool beside me. I feel her, though, when she brushes her not-at-all-paw-like hand over my carapace. I squirm against her touch.

No words meet her question on my behalf. Rather, I nod, because I haven't used my voice thus far, and I've decided to save it for Leonardo.

"Red mask, stitched up eye. If what I've heard is true, then you have wrists covered in cuts just beneath those bandages of yours," there's a low, rumbly purr underlining Alopex's words as she trails a finger slowly up my wrists, moving further towards my bicep. I jerk away, nearly falling off my stool.

"Look, do you need something, or are you just here because you're horny?" I demand. My brow is furrowed, forming creases and wrinkles that spread from one end of my face to the other.

Having lost my appetite, I stand up and turn away from the island and over to the sink, where I pour the remaining coffee out of my mug and down the drain.

I clench my teeth when I hear Alopex slide off of her own stool. She starts towards me. "Depends, would you give it to me?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, she presses her snout to my neck, in an attempt to kiss me. Her teeth aren't as tender as she's trying for, though, so she gives me a quick lap with her tongue. This doesn't turn me on like it would with Leo. No, it makes me furious,

Spinning around faster than ever before, I grab her by the shoulders and bring up my leg. In one swift movement, I've kicked her back and beat her to the wall, which she falls back against with a loud bang.

I bend down to her level, snarling with my lips curled back and my teeth clenched together. My eyes narrow into slits and my third eyelid slides over, masking my pupil and iris with something completely blank. "If you don't leave me and my husband alone, trust me, you'll be hearing a lot more from me. A lot."

There's no space between my words and the next set. This phrase doesn't belong to Alopex, but instead, Donnie. "The surgery is over with. You can come in now, Raphael," my brother's tone is calm, though, he looks between me and my companion a suspicious gleam adding light to his burgundy eyes. Still, he says nothing about it, obviously contempt on bringing me to my husband.

Leonardo is sitting up, an exhausted, pain-filled expression corrupting his angelic face. He smiles when he sees me though, and even, he stretched out his arms, ready to embrace me. I hug him cautiously, not want to hurt his clearly-aching body. My husband urges me to sit beside him on the bed, so we can talk. I do, because I miss his touch more than any distant memory I've ever held dear; even if we've only been apart for a short two hours.

Leonardo leans his head on my shoulder. He gives me one of his hands, which I take to holding between the both of mine. "I love you." Three sweet words that mean the world to me, coming out of the most valuable man in the world, with a voice as astonishing the stars above our planet. He brightens my day, scaring the depression back into its corner, in the far right of my brain.

Donatello lingers by the door, a clipboard in hand. He wears reading glasses, something he found with the recent year that he needed desperately. It wasn't too hard to find a pair that fit him, although, he isn't a fan of the frames, which are a mix of various shades of brown; light and dark coming together to create an almost hideous blend. My brother pulls it off, though.

"The stats are great, everything should be in place, the pregnancy should be smooth. Your greatest chance at fertilization would be within the next five days, yet, I do suppose it would work after then, as well." I don't process the words very well, in too busy thinking about my future. Babies turned to toddlers to kids to teens; I'll have a family. We—me and Leonardo—will have a family. "One thing I did want to mention, though, was that, you—Leo—woke up at the perfect moment. I'd just finished stitching your plastron back up. If you'd woken up any earlier, well, you would've died." A moment of silence for the disaster that could've struck. "You two just don't seem to run out of luck, do you?"

Donatello is right. We don't seem to run out of luck. But, remember, even the millionaires, the billionaires, wound up with empty pockets during the Great Depression. And coming up, our little Hamato family would have its own state of desperation. Trust me when I say; no one is getting lucky this time.

* * *

"Seems everyone's gonna be fine. One day too late; just as well."

— Seether (Fine Again)


	9. Chapter 9

Sometimes, I get a feeling that I'm not good enough for him, and I never will be. He's perfection whilst I'm destruction. He has small, fading bruises marking his body, earned from battles he fought to protect his family, and I have scars that I carved into my paper-like skin, ridding myself of all innocence.

When he's sleeping, he's at ease. His sapphire eyes, speckled with drops of cerulean rain, are sealed shut. His breaths are even. The tips of his fine lips are lifted slightly at each side.

I grin at my husband, admiring his slumbering form. He doesn't snore—thank god, I'd probably go mad if he did. Instead, he sleeps blissfully, silently. I swear, it's all of the ninjutsu that's made him like this. Most of the time, you wouldn't know he were in the room unless you saw his broad form. Sometimes he uses this to his advantage, by sneaking up on me. Most of the time, though, because he knows how much his stealth irritates me, he tries his hardest to move with loud, heavy foot steps. It's the little things in life that make it worth living.

It's one in the afternoon, but I have no intentions of leaving this bed. It's uncomfortable, yes, with its thin sheets and pop-up springs. But it's warm under the covers with him. I wrap my arms around his body, scooting as close as I can.

Shortly after the surgery was finished, Leonardo asked if he could sleep. I lifted him off of the medical bed and carried him to one of the many guest bedrooms. He was already asleep when I laid him down and pulled the blankets up and over the two of us.

Leonardo wakes suddenly, disturbed by my sudden movements. He makes no effort to push me away, in fact, he nuzzles me, rubbing his nose against my neck.

"'Bout time you woke up, Sleepy Head," I tease, a faint chuckle underlining my words.

My husband pulls back a bit, just enough for us to make eye contact as we converse. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I say. "There's nothing wrong with being tired. Especially after surgery." I kiss Leo's forehead blissfully.

The two of us sit up together. He leans back against the head board, crossing his legs over each other as I made myself comfortable in front of him. I hold his hands in my lap.

Leonardo's eyes poured into mine, and he did exactly what I always wanted somebody to do; read me. Like a Nicholas Sparks book, he inhaled every emotion my simple, emerald eyes broadcasted. He didn't stare at me because he wanted me to be aware of his presence. He stared at me in a way that made our souls kiss like our lips would.

I swear, he could see every thought I'd ever processed in my twenty two years of living. Anger, sadness, defeat, despair, vulnerability; everything I am was there for him to see—only he didn't just see it, he felt it with me, drowned in my emotions. What was in my head became what was in our heads. I liked it better that way.

There was a question perched on his lips, looking like a chore that was yet took be taken care of. I didn't give him the chance to ask—are you alright?—instead, I shook my head.

I didn't want to open my mouth and explain what was wrong, because in truth, nothing was. I was just having another down day. There was nothing but my depression to pin the blame on. This happens often.

Leonardo reaches a hand up to my face. He doesn't caress my cheek like I'd prefer him to do. Rather, he trails his thumb over my lips and cheeks and snout. He slips the tip of his finger under my mask, then does the same with his other thumb. Slowly, he lifts my mask off of my face. He gifts me with a kiss between my loosely shut eyes.

I wrap my arm around his shell and hastily tug him onto my lap. Leo gets to work on pressing more and more kisses on my delicate skin; on my shoulders and neck and jawline. I massage his upper thigh, tracing my fingers over the bottom of his plastron.

"Are you hurting?" I ask in a whisper when Leonardo withdraws from kissing me, bobbing my head towards the area holding his new set of ovaries.

Shrugging, Leo says, "A little sore, but nothing a couple of Advil's won't help."

I smirk as I murmur in a seductive tone, "Good, because I am not holding back tonight."

"Better not," Leo places a hand behind my head and pulls me towards him. He grins as our foreheads come to rest upon each other. "Because I'm not gonna rest until I'm pregnant with our child."

* * *

"Love is a meeting of two souls, fully accepting the dark and light within each other, bound by the course to grow struggle into bliss."

— Unknown


	10. Chapter 10

We don't bother with silence, we've never been very fond of it. The way we see it, you only have so much time left with the people you love, and if you don't make the most of time, then time will get the best of you. Sometimes, when we want to relax, we dwell in a quiet atmosphere. Not right now, though.

My husband and I are in Donnie's kitchen, preparing dinner. It's Friday, meaning that Michelangelo and his family will be here for supper by six. We have the next hour and a half to fix something up.

Leonardo is chopping up vegetables for a salad, sitting on a stool at the island. All day, he's been struggling to walk and is unable stand unless he's leaning on something for support. He says he's fine, but I know he's far from it.

I'm standing across from him, rubbing seasoning on a chunk of venison. Earlier, while me and Leonardo were napping, Donnie and Alopex had gone hunting. They came home with two deer and a squirrel. The first deer is being used for dinner tonight, while the second will be sent home with me and Leonardo by the end of the night.

"So," Leo starts, already smiling, "we should probably start discussing names, don't you think?"

I roll my eyes and snort. "We haven't even tried for a kid and you're already wanting to talk about names?" Turning around, I open the oven and slide a tray of venison on the bottom rack, just below the potatoes rapped in tin foil. There's a pot boiling corn on the stove.

"Well, Donnie said the pregnancy will only last for four months, and we'll know the gender a month and a half in. It's a pretty big deal, finding the perfect name, if you ask me. Therefore, I feel that we should start sooner than later." Leonardo sets his cutting knife down and dumps a cluster of tiny carrots into a bowl with the other veggies.

Smirking at my husband, I rest my folded arms on the countertop. Leo reaches across the cold, marble surface to grab my hands. I give his a a squeeze. "We'll start talking about names the second we find out you're pregnant, alright?" Grinning, Leonardo nods and leans across the counter to kiss my cheek. I smile.

"Look at you two love birds," a cheerful tone is carried into the room as Donatello walks in, wearing a blissful expression. He doesn't wear any form of protective gear anymore. His belt and Naginata have been put to rest—the latter is hanging over his fireplace, which you'd think would be a hazard, what, with it being wood and all.

Recently, Leonardo and I had decided that there is little point in wearing protective gear, as well. We both left our bandages on, me for obvious reasons, him, well, I don't know why. My guess would have to be that he doesn't want me to feel indifferent.

"Hey, Don." My brother returns my greeting with a slight bob of his head. "Forgot to ask you, how was dinner last week?"

Last Friday, my husband and I didn't come over. Having just begun talking from a week of ignoring each other, we decided that it'd be best for our relationship if we stayed home and worked things out. Donatello, of course, being the genius he is, agreed with this and then went on a explain in depth of how important a healthy relationship is in a marriage.

Donnie slides onto the stool beside Leo, gnawing on his bottom lip nervously. "It was alright. I ate by myself, but it was alright," he speaks quickly, as if trying to get me to not understand what he's saying. Tough luck, Don, you ain't getting out of this that easy.

Rage doesn't fail to take control tonight, it overrides my body and sends me into a frenzy. My eyes widen, then narrow into slits. I ball my left hand into a fist and clench my teeth so tightly, that my jaw feels like it's being stabbed by a thousand blades. Leonardo squeezes my right hand.

I turn my head to look at him. He meets my eye and I can't help but feel a million times calmer. With a muted voice, he tells me, "Everything'll be alright, we'll get through this; together." I believe him, trust him.

I take it a deep inhale of the fine, clean air around me. It tastes of slowly cooking food, mingling with the strong smell of Donatello. When I exhale, the chaos has seemingly left my body. I'm a bird in flight.

"Where were Mikey and his family?" Leonardo questions.

"At home, I assume. I called Mike a half hour after they were supposed to be here, but when he picked up he refused to tell me why he couldn't come. He repeatedly told me that him and Karai were busy—with what, I don't know." Donnie shrugs, as if it's nothing. It's definitely something, alright.

Standing up, Donatello excuses himself, giving me and Leo each a friendly nod before retreating to his lab. As soon as my brother is out of sight, I will myself to blow up.

"Why, that little shit!" I bellow, slamming a fist down on the counter top.

Leo heaves an irritated sigh when he pushes himself away from the counter, walking around it to get to where I am standing. He doesn't touch me, merely stares, with a furrowed brow and disapproving gleam to his sapphire eyes. "You need to calm down, Raphael." The way he says name, with a tone more bitter than unsweetened coffee, sends chills rippling down my spine. I huff, a puffy cloud of impatience exiting through my flared nostrils.

"Oh, I need to calm down?!" I demand, gesturing towards myself. "I've been nothing but calm—"

"For the past week," Leo cuts me off, his voice surprisingly smooth, as if unaffected by my yelling. "You've been calm for seven straight days, don't break the streak now."

My lips twist into a firm knot, one I don't expect to be untied. Leonardo is full of surprises, though, I have learned.

He places a hand on either of my hips, smirking as he leans forward with puckered lips. He kisses me, with a warm mouth that is silkier than a dog's coat. I nibble on his upper lip playfully.

When we break apart, Leonardo's hands have shifted from the bridge of my shell to the top of my plastron. He fingertips outline my collar bone.

"Please don't explode at dinner tonight," my husband begs. I've always been a sucker for his requests. Rolling my eyes, I cave in, "I promise, I won't."

Leonardo flashes a teeth-showing grin. "And for heavens sake, if you have to yell, don't do it in front of Ellie. You know how easily you get scared."

I nod and earn another kiss, this time, on the tip of my snout.

* * *

Michelangelo and his family arrive 15 minutes late to dinner. We were ready to start without them, had they waited five more minutes.

I can't say I would've been surprised if they stayed home. In fact, I'd came up with a plan, consistent of stomping over to Mikey's house after dinner, and blow up in his face. No holding back. All hell let loose; I'll open the gates.

Of course, they showed up.

Me, Leo, Donnie, and Alopex were making our plates when Mikey stepped through the front door, Ellie in his arms. She was wearing her favorite dress—I swear, I've only ever seen her in three other outfits next to this dress in the past year, it's not that she doesn't have a lot of clothes, just that she's obsessed with wearing the dress.

Karai was holding a basket of muffins. She loves to bake, little known fact, and almost always brings tears to Friday night dinners.

As usual, everyone greeted one another with hugs and small, half hearted welcomes. Ellie begged to sit beside her uncle Leo. Mikey followed Karai around like a child would his mother. Everything seemed utterly normal.

But then there was Alopex. She sat awkwardly in the chair between me and Donatello, jabbing her food as if she wasn't quite sure whether or not she wanted to eat it. Donnie attempted to make small talk with her, but she clearly wasn't up for that.

Leonardo, being the social butterfly that he is, didn't seem to get the memo to leave Alopex alone. "Did you and Karai know each other back in the Foot Clan?" That was enough to silence everyone, including Ellie, who'd taken a liking to banging her fork against the table. Course, a heavy warning glance from her father could've been threat enough to settle her down, even I'd curl up in shame at Mikey's glare.

Alopex glanced up, an intimidating gleam in her golden eyes. Her narrowed glare doesn't even begin to compare to Karai's icy expression, though.

Amber eyes piercing, lips curled in a snarl, nostrils flared, and I still can't put together why it is that they already seem to hate the mere sight of each other.

"No," Karai declares strongly. "No, we never knew each other."

* * *

After dinner was finished, tension built further. Karai handed Ellie to Leonardo, who took his niece into the living room to play with the toys she'd bring along. The former approached Alopex, asking if they could "chat" in the other room. Donnie disappeared to his lab, and I confronted Mikey.

"So, I heard you weren't here last week." Michelangelo was washing dishes—we alternate between turns weekly. Glancing at me over his shoulder, Mikey grunts.

"What's it to you?"

Pursing my lips, I lean my elbows back against the counter. "You hurt Donnie's feelings." A roll of his soft, baby blue eyes is the only response earned. I breathe in deeply, and exhale with a long, exasperated huff.

Standing upright, I loom over Mikey, looking him up and down. He shivers; a tell. It means he's afraid, daunted. And it makes me feel powerful.

"You know how much these dinners to Donnie, and yet, you were selfish enough to take that away from him—without even giving an excuse, mind you! I just want to know why." I shrug, as if it's nothing.

Mikey snorts, tossing the dish rag he'd been using in the corner of the counter before walking over to the fridge. "Look, I don't wanna talk about it right now. Now, do you know where Donnie keeps the scotch? Lord knows the guy has stash," he chuckles, as if it's the most amusing thing in the world. I'd gladly disagree, though, because he's making fun of my brother, and if there's only one thing I can promise, it's that I will never let someone trash my family.

Stomping forward, I slam the fridge door shut, setting Mikey back a few steps. "What the fuck is you're problem, man?"

"You're my problem, Mikey." I shove him further away from me, my hands pushing against his plastron.

"Why? 'Cause I didn't come to dinner last week? Anyway, you said, 'I heard you weren't here,' meaning you didn't come to dinner either. Care to explain that?" He thinks that's a smooth move, a one up on his behalf. Surprise, surprise, Mikey, cause I've got a few tricks up my own sleeve.

Tilting my head, I can't help but smirk. It's an odd sort of satisfaction, watching the confusion seep into his eyes at my lack of reaction. "Maybe, if you weren't too caught up in your own wonderland to check in with your family, you would already know that Leonardo and I got into quite the brawl last week. Donnie told us to stay home and make up, that's why I didn't come." Your move.

"A brawl? As in a fight? You and Leonardo, the power couple, fought?" Mikey bursts into a fit of laughter. "I'm sorry," he gets out between amused snickers, "but that is the most unbelievable thing I've ever heard!"

"Knock it off, this is serious."

"Of course it is, Raph, because everything is serious when it comes to you and your precious husband," he gives me a fake smile before rolling his eyes and walking towards the door.

"I am very serious about me and my husband, because I love him. Our relationship is as real as can be, not some we-hooked-up-in-the-basement-cause-we-were-bored-and-now-she's-pregnant relationship." I halt, putting an end to my stomping. Folding my arms across my plastron, I switch out my previous facial expression for a new one; a scowl dark enough to put out the light of a whole world.

Michelangelo whips around, a defensive gleam in his eyes. "DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ME AND MY WIFE!" He screams, lashing out completely. He swings a fist, aiming it at my face, but I catch his wrist midair.

"Then stay the fuck away from my brother and husband," I hiss through gritted teeth. My grip on his arm tightens as he calls out, "Karai, get Ellie. We're done here." The sound of a faint reply and the pitter-patter of traveling footsteps is enough to tell us that his wife is doing just as he demanded.

I'm not ready to let go of Michelangelo. He isn't struggling, therefore, I see no point in releasing my grip on his wrist. Our eyes are locked and I swear, nothing could cool the hatred we're shooting at each other. But there is a way to break it.

"Raph!" Leonardo comes rushing into the kitchen one door, while Karai and her daughter linger in front of the other. My husband lets out a sigh of exhaustion. "Let him go. We should be getting home ourselves, don't you agree?"

Leo's sapphire eyes will be the end of me, I swear. The simple-seeming orbs wear me down; in the best of ways, I mean.

The irises are sapphire, sprinkled with royal blue raindrops. If I look closely enough, I can see a small, green creek running around the pupil. I wonder if my own eyes put it there, from hours of gazing at each other. I wonder if there's blue in my eyes, looking like a meteor on a foreign planet.

Slowly, I let go of Mikey's wrist. He snatches it away, holding his hand against his upper plastron as he stalks over to where his wife and daughter stand in a doorway. They leave the house quickly, without so much as a goodbye.

There I am, though, alone in the kitchen with Leonardo. Everything is still, quiet, for oh so long. Until he pulls me into his arms and I break.

I try so hard to bottle everything up—Donnie's PTSD, Leo's anxiety, my depression, my (minor) schizophrenia, my cutting, drinking, suicide attempts, Mikey walking out on us, Karai playing mind games, Alopex being a slut and hitting on me—but it's all too much, everything is too much.

Splinter always told me that there is no such thing as anger. "Anger," he would preach, "is a product of something else. A love child of many other emotions—sadness, fear, frustration, even embarrassment."

"Then how do I get rid of it?" I used to ask, merely for his own amusement.

Splinter would stop pacing—lord knows he never talks with out moving about—only to turn and meet my eye. "Easy, open up."

Back then, those words meant nothing to me. I was a shallow, arrogant teenager who couldn't give two fucks about his well being or that of others. Now, I can't seem to stop caring for those around me.

"I'm sorry," I sob, tears pouring out of me like lemonade from a pitcher.

"Shhh. . ," Leo holds me tight against him. He rubs soothing circles on my carapace. "Sweetheart, there's no reason to be sorry. I heard everything, and I'm not upset with what you said, at all. I'm glad that you're sticking up for me and Donnie—and it is about time that someone put Mikey in his place. I'm just glad that it could be you."

I pull away, confusion sparking my interest. "That makes no sense, Babe. I just drove him away, and you're happy?"

Leonardo pushed his lips to the right, and he glances up at the ceiling in consideration. "I wouldn't exactly say happy. But I can't complain about you telling him to leave." Then in a whisper, he adds, "Something seemed off with him and Karai, I don't know what, but it was there. I needed to reassurance of their absence."

Nodding, I wipe the few lingering tears off of my face. "They were acting strange, I agree. Especially Karai towards Alopex."

"Do you think they knew each other?"

"And what, lied for show? It's possible." I take Leonardo's hand in mine and lace our fingers together. "You ready to go?"

My husband nods slightly, and let's me lead him out of the house.

Over by the shed, my motorcycle sits propped against a wheelbarrow. It would make sense to drive the vehicle home, after all, I do keep forgetting it at Donnie's house. Also, Leo won't have to trudge the long distance home—he makes it rather obvious that he's still soar from the surgery this morning.

Making a sharp turn in the direction of my bike, Leonardo let's out a surprised yelp as he's yanked off corse. "What are you doing?" He demands just as I bend down to pluck two crimson roses from the dirt.

"Taking a detour."

I stop in front of my bike, releasing Leonardo's hand as I make a move to sit on the black leather seat. He takes the roses from me and I proceed to backing the motorcycle away from the shed, and forward into the open grass.

When I stop again, I turn off the engine only to walk back to the shed. This time I step inside the small structure.

There are two rows of shelves on three of the four walls. Tools and cans of paint fill the shed, but I know that a bike helmet is in here somewhere.

As I dig around, Leonardo stands just beyond the door. "What's with the roses? And the bike? We could just walk, ya know, it'd be easier."

I shake my head profoundly. "You wouldn't be able to walk home, not after surgery this morning."

Leonardo huffs and puffs, stomping a foot against the grass. "Raph, I'm fine! I can manage on my own, believe me."

"Ah ha," I murmur with a genuine smile towards my findings; a red and black helmet. Tossing it over to Leonardo, he catches it with almost effortlessly. "I know you probably could, but I don't want to cause you any discomfort. Plus, I already sorta kinda have my bike ready, so there really is no going back now."

Leonardo rolls his eyes, but straps on the hamlet anyhow. He climbs onto the bike after me, wrapping his arms around my torso. The roses are held tight in his grip. "What about you? You don't have a helmet!" He shouts over the roaring engine.

"I'll survive!" I yell back.

I rev my bike, a chuckle rumbling in the depths of my throat as we shoot through the tall grasses. I drive us towards our home, but turn into the woods when we're halfway there. I don't bother to answer when my husband asks why I'm not taking us home, I don't tell him where we're headed.

The stars shine bright overhead. It's almost distracting, when the galaxy dances around the moon, the wind's music starting a rhythm that's impossible to ignore. Up ahead, waves overlap each other in the lake. Animals scurry about, running away from the motorcycle.

I drive faster.

* * *

I parked my bike half a mile away from our destination, as the trees are closer together in this section of the forest, leaving me with barely any room to drive.

Walking behind me, Leonardo tugs on my hand grasping my attention. "Where are we going, love? It's late, and we still have, er, stuff to do tonight," a romantic tone underlines his words, getting his point across fairly. He doesn't fancy being out here, in the middle of the night, when we could be in bed.

I'm holding the roses now, careful not to bend the stem or fray the petals. Glancing back over my shoulder, I offer Leonardo a genuine smile. "This'll be fast, trust me." He seems to do so, considering he shuts his mouth, doing nothing but following my lead.

We're there before I know it, sitting side by side on a boulder. I try to make eye contact with Leo, but he can't seem to bring himself to so much as glance at me. I can sense his uneasiness, it radiates off of his body in a way that can't be ignored.

"I wanted to get his blessing," I stretch out my words and the pauses between syllables. A nervous feeling plants itself in my stomach, sprouting with the aid of Leonardo's silence. Why isn't he saying anything?

"How?"

How? What does he mean "how?" Leonardo is the one who's been trying his absolute fucking hardest to contact our father. One the other hand, that could've the exact reason why he's questioning me.

So I take his hand in mine and lay a loving kiss on his cheek.

Turning to Splinter's grave, I smile. "Hey, Dad. It's been a while, two weeks. I would've come sooner, I swear, but me and Leo were having some problems, and ever since we made up, I haven't been willing to leave his side."

Leonardo is staring at me now, his eyes filled with wonder. My gaze is fixated on my father's makeshift tombstone as I speak to it, giving a quick recap of the last two weeks.

"Anyhow, there's a reason why I came here tonight—and dragged Leo with me—is because we have something to tell you."

Meeting Leo's glance, I motion towards Splinter's grave. My husband nods.

"The two of us want kids," Leonardo confesses with a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He doesn't take his eyes off of me. "And we want your blessing."

For a moment, there's nothing but a breath of silence. The wind stills and leaves stop rustling.

I hand one of the roses to Leonardo. The other one, I keep for myself, to press a kiss to, and to lay it down on my father's grave. Leo repeats my actions. And then I kiss him.

A sharp breeze comes out of nowhere, chilling me to the bone. I caress Leonardo's cheek, holding his beautiful, luscious face in my scarred up hands. Bats shoot away from the trees and into the sky, diving overhead. Leo drapes his arms over my shoulders, tugging me closer. I fall into a pit of love for him, just as the first few drops of rain come spiraling down from the clouds.

I take this as an answer; yes, he's given us his blessing.

I'm finally going to give Leonardo the one thing he's always wanted: a family.

* * *

There's not a limit to the things that I'd do, I'd give you stars but the stars wouldn't do.

— Blue October (Coal Makes Diamonds)


	11. Chapter 11

I wake to an empty bed, in a silent and dark room. It's late, not quite morning yet, and I'm tempted to find my husband, but I'm warm beneath the comforter. This doesn't make Leonardo's absence any more bearable, no, I'm missing his touch, his long, soft fingers holding me close.

The thought of Leonardo and his luxurious body is a trigger to images of earlier tonight, to the other things we did in this bed. If I focus hard enough, I can still feel his head between my legs as he pleasured me with a blowjob. Then, I move on to recall the sensation of thrusting into him and making him moan, all while planting delicate kisses to his forehead.

Heaving a long, satisfied sigh, I push the blankets off of my lower body, on the move to find my husband and bring him back to bed; this time to sleep.

I don't try to be quiet when moving around the upper floor of the house, in fact, I'm practically skipping. The excitement, the glee, the cheerfulness is all a result of the love Leonardo and I made only a few short hours ago. We went at it for an hour before finally calling it quits, shifting from one position to another, reaching the point of release over and over again.

I wonder if he's soar from my repeated full-force thrusting. For a second, I feel bad, and I regret being that rough with him. I should've taken it slow, and been gentler. He was already in pain from surgery, I shouldn't have added to that.

Then I remember his face, full of lust and libido. He moaned louder than he normally would've, not that I cared. I liked the way he yelled at me to keep going. "Don't stop," he shouted at me in a pleasured tone, despite the clenched expression on his face that clearly read discomfort. "Harder, Raph, harder!"

I did what he said, driven by his sexual desire.

I'll never be able to describe how amazing it felt to be that close to my husband. We have sex often, yes, at least once a week, but it's never felt like this. Perhaps it was because for once, we had a reason to be making love, a motive that wasn't the usual horniness or boredom that so often propelled us into fucking each other mindlessly.

Mindlessly.

That's one word that didn't match the description of what went on tonight. Our sex was the exact opposite of mindless. We smiled at each other and I kissed his forehead and he held me close and I heaved in an out of him. Through it all, I thought about our future family and our marriage and how incredibly blessed I was to have such an amazing lover. I wasn't mindless, no, my head was full of racing thoughts.

Just as it is now, when I round the corner of the stairway, making my way a crossing the wooden floorboards in the living room to where my husband sits on the couch.

He's wrapped a silky quilt around his body, one that once belonged to our father, if I'm not mistaken. I begin to wonder where he found it, but then again, I'm too busy embracing him from behind to care.

"Hey there, sweetie," I whisper, nuzzling into the back of his neck.

His cheeks lift in a grin. "What are you doing up?"

Untangling my arms from around Leonardo's torso, I circle around him to the other end of the couch. Tenderly, I lift his feet up into the air, only to set them onto my lap when I sat where they were previously. "Couldn't sleep without by my side." He closed his eyes, a peaceful expression settling upon his angelic face as he soaks in my confession. I take his hand, lacing our fingers together.

"I'm sorry I left you, honey, I just wasn't very tired, figured I'd pass some time down here. Better than staring at the wall, ya know?" I nodded, although, I would've preferred that he wake me up rather than abandon me completely. What's done is done, I suppose. And anyhow, I like it down here, with the lit of fire place and stars shining through the windows, the light from the full moon reflecting down onto the meadow just beyond our home.

I take the time to focus on what Leonardo's doing down here.

There's a big book in his hands, and judging by the angle I'm at, I'd say that it's a photo album. It doesn't look familiar, though. The ones Leonardo and I have filled over the past five years are black and gray, while this one is a deep violet with stitched flowers on the spine.

Next to my husband, on the floor, is another stack of identical books. On top of those sits a can of Miller Light.

"Woah woah woah," I say suddenly, "are you drinking?" The answer was obvious, what, with the open beer sitting beside him. Yet, I still asked. Looking for reassurance, I guess.

Leonardo glanced up at me. "Uh, yeah, I am. Why?"

Shaking my head, I furrowed my brow and clenched my teeth, fighting back the urge to yell.

He's been drinking a lot lately, my Leonardo. Anywhere from vodka in the mornings to Miller at night. Wednesday he drank a margarita with dinner, while Tuesday he mixed a shot of Jack Daniels in with his coke. He knows I don't approve of the alcoholism, even if it is slight. He ignores my scolding, saying that as long as he isn't drunk, then it shouldn't matter to me. Little does he realize that every move he makes, every breath he takes, means more to me than the earth and the sun and the moon. I'd trade every last star in the galaxy—scratch that, universe, if it put a smile on his face and happiness in his eyes. I'd do anything for him and he doesn't even realize that I care for his well being.

I know that he won't listen to my "you think you have it under control but you'll be addicted before you know it" lecture, therefore, I skip right past it, heading for the next best thing.

"That can't be good for the baby." There was a spark of mischief in my emerald eyes, as I thought that I'd stumped him. Leonardo is clever, never should I forget, hence, dodging the point that I'd made was a piece of cake.

"I'm not pregnant." He glares down at whatever's on those pages of that thick book he's caressing.

Furrowing my brow, I twist my lips, pushing them to the left in doubt. "How do you know that? You haven't even taken the test yet . . . have you?"

Leonardo slams the book closed, causing me to jump. He exhales a sharp, rage filled sigh. "Donnie said I would get the result two hours after sexual intercourse, and the test resulted negative."

My lips were parted as I stared down at my now empty hand in utter confusion. We tried so hard, damn, I came in him so many times, and it still didn't work. How? It doesn't seem right to me.

"Leo . . ," I trailed off, not sure what to say. I wanted to comfort him, but I, too, needed comfort.

"It's fine, Raph," Leonardo stated emotionlessly while folding his blanket. He proceeded to laying it over the edge of the couch afterwards. "It never works the first time, anyhow."

Glancing down at me, Leonardo meets my eye for the first time since I came down here. And let me tell you, I have every reason to be concerned after what I see.

Bloodshot eyes, dark circles surrounding those blissful sapphire orbs I so often seek salvation in. His face droops in ways it hasn't earlier, back in the bedroom. When we were laying together after a long two hours of sex, I looked up and down his body, taking in every minor detail. He looked happy and healthy, not a smudge out of place.

But now . . . now it's as if I'm looking at a different person entirely. He's standing, making it easier to sense his fidgetiness. It made me nauseous, staring at my previously-find husband like this. I didn't know what to think, what to say.

All I could process was the fear seeping into my bloodstream, taking over my body entirely.

"Are you coming to bed, babe?" He asked this question just as he would any other day, with simplicity and care.

Now, any other time, I would grin and follow my husband upstairs, holding his hand as we made our way to bed. Then he'd lay his head on my chest and I'd hold tight against my body.

I don't do that this time.

"I'll be up there soon, just have a few things to do first." I wonder if he could sense my distraction, if he could see the agitation in my eyes.

He certainly didn't seem convinced, with the way he stared down at me for a few beats longer than usual. He shrugged it off though, telling me come up when I was ready, that he'd be waiting for me.

The second I heard the bedroom door click shut upstairs, I leaped off of the couch and practically bolted to the kitchen.

I hated to snoop about, but this was my husband, and if I'm concerned for him, then I have every right to sift through his mess; literally.

I opened the pantry where we keep our empty soda cans—Donnie uses the metal as a building material when inventing. We'd emptied it before taking off to Donnie's Thursday, and we've hardly been home since, leaving the pantry to be empty. That's how it should've been, at least.

Instead, I find half a dozen cans. Can you guess the label printed on the aluminum?

Miller light.

* * *

Your bottle's almost empty, you know this can't go on. Because of you my mind is always racing.

— Three Days Grace (It's All Over)


	12. Chapter 12

I stumble into the kitchen, my tired eyes settling upon Leonardo. He stands over the stove, flipping pancakes while humming along with the music playing softly on the speaker beside him. Turning his head, Leo smiles at me over his shoulder. "Morning, love. How did you sleep?"

I grunt a response, far too exhausted to reply formally. Pouring myself a mug of coffee, I heave a long sigh of refreshment at the strong taste. No sugar, no sweetener, straight up black coffee.

"Well, I slept great," Leonardo says, as if it were something to brag about.

Walking away from the breakfast he'd been working on fixing, Leo came to me with open arms and a welcoming grin on his beautiful face. Pulling me into a tight hug, he wrapped his arms loosely around my lower body.

I set my coffee down and returned my husband's embrace, kissing his neck lightly.

We stood in each other's arms, listening to music, swaying slightly. Leonardo buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my natural scent like I do his.

"Something wrong, dear?"

I sigh, frowning deeply. He can't see the melancholy in my eyes with the way that we're standing, and for that, I'm relieved. I don't want him to pressure me further, I want to tell him that everything is alright, even if it isn't, just so that we can hold on to each other a little longer.

Just.

I hate that word. It makes the sentences seem so . . . insignificant. Empty. 'Just' is a synonym for 'only.' By using this word, in this sentence, would be to say that I only want to hold Leo. Fuck that, though, because I want to do so much more to him.

I want to kiss him and make love to him and give him a massage greater than any. Not just sexual things, though. I want to whisper sweet nothings as he drifts into sleep and tickle him until he can't breathe because of how hard he's laughing. I want to fall back in love with him. Over. And over. And over again.

Better yet, I want him to fall in love with me again.

Why do I feel like we're falling out of love? For five years we've been together. Exchanging a thousand kisses a week, cuddling up to each other every night. We've done everything so perfectly, made the right moves, and because of that, we've managed to fall in love with each other harder than before with every passing day.

I've given my all for him, put forth so much effort and still, our relationship is tattered. We fight constantly, over silly things that we wouldn't have so much as given a second thought to five months ago. Within the past five months, we've grown apart, letting our tempers get the best of us. Letting our fury ruin our relationship. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've threatened a divorce.

We're falling out of love, he's slipping away from me. My heart is aching, but he can't see it. He can't see the pain because I hide it behind a fake smile and flirt.

I don't want him to see me crack. I don't like the thought of him knowing that I'm breaking under the pressure of our relationship. Most of all, though, I don't want him to think any of this is his fault.

"No," I state boldly. "Nothing is wrong, sunshine."

"Good." Leonardo shifts his arms upward, clasping his hands together behind my neck as he pulls away, looking me in the eyes with a sense of joy. "Because," he continues, "this is our song."

Sure enough, the first measure of the song that had been playing when we went all the way with one another for the very first time was playing on the speaker across the kitchen from us. Graceful Dancing, by Blue October.

I groan, rolling my eyes when Leonardo wiggles his brow. Taking a step back, my husband holds out a hand for me to take, a proposal, if you will. "May I have this dance?"

Chuckling, I shake my head slightly. "You are so fuckin' cheesy, Leo."

"Maybe." He looks down at his feet, a sheepish expression on his face—is that a blush I see?—then back up, with an unsure gleam in his sapphire eyes, his lips in a firm line. "But you love me."

He says it more like a question, there's a hint of doubt in his voice. I hate that I have to confirm to him that I love him. I mean, what does he honestly think I'm gonna say? "No, I don't love you. Just because we're married doesn't mean I love you. Now get off of your fucking high horse and put your hand down!" I would never say that to him; ever.

Giving him a small, reassuring smile, I reach a hand up to caress his cheek. "Of course I do, honey."

I grab him by the hips and hand, he puts his empty hand on my shoulder, then, off we go.

One step, two step, three step, four step.

Gliding across the kitchen, we dance, our eyes locked by a key that I have no intention of finding. Gazing into those beautiful, divine sapphire orbs, I couldn't have been happier.

I started singing, causing Leo to giggle. Smirking, I continued reciting lyrics. "Describe the pain, that choked your reality. 'It's all in your mind,' he said, 'you have to keep graceful dancing.'"

"You're flat. You have to put more enthusiasm into it," Leonardo encourages. The grin on his face is brighter than the sun. Good lord, he is my sun. My bright star, the supernova against my dark Galaxy. I cannot let him burn out, I need him to be lit forever.

With more energy than before, I sing the next phrase. "I closed the door to the war I started last Halloween. I'm gonna be fine again; I have to keep graceful dancing."

Leonardo moves both of his hands in an act of grabbing my face. I place the hand that had previously been holding his on his other hip, pulling him closer. Our plastrons grind against each other as Leo leans forward, pressing the tips of his lips to mine.

We're not moving anymore, standing together, absorbing the carefully written lyrics of our song.

He joins me for the chorus, his voice sounding a million times better than mine. I wonder where he learned how to hold long notes like this, and how to change from a high pitch to a low pitch so effortlessly.

"Here we are. You're a super star on your own. And I'm looking over your shoulder, getting older. And God only knows that here we are, and you're a superstar on your own. Yes, here we are."

My shell is pressed against the island countertop, my husband creating a barrier around me. I've never felt safer than I do when I'm with him.

Leonardo takes the next verse to himself. His silky, creamy voice is in control of the entire house. Booming loud, the words he sings bounce off of the walls, reflecting in the mirrors and slipping through the cracks in the doors, spreading elsewhere . . . elsewhere . . . elsewhere.

"The sunset rains, like a bullet hole. Trees only seem for hanging. The moon is a target range. And rivers only seem for drowning."

I remember the first time I heard these lines, the ones made up of carefully strewn words. Leonardo and I had been in a heavy make out as I thrusted into him; in and out, in and out. The music had been playing from downstairs, where Donatello had been playing music from loud, blaring speakers.

At the time, me and Leonardo had only been together for seven months. Which is quite a while, I do suppose, to have waited for sex. But if you sit there and think about it, we were brothers for sixteen years until we became boyfriends, and later husbands. Throughout our entire relationship, we've taken our time, walking the long routes, despite the short cuts, just so we could spend more time walking alongside each other.

This set of lyrics . . . I thought long and hard about them afterwards, to sat the least. It was obvious at what they meant; suicide, death, lack of life. Lack of purpose. I've faced these four things many times in my life, but ever since I first kissed Leonardo, I've been able to fight off the depression in ways I never could've before.

"You ball the blame, then starve to finish your painting. You're gonna be fine my friend." Leonardo slips the thumb on his right hand beneath my mask, massaging the scaly skin outlining my emerald eyes. We make eye contact once more. His eyes read acceptance and confidence as he leans his forehead on mine. "You have to keep graceful dancing."

The worst part may be, the look he gives me when he says the words "graceful dancing" because he knows the truth between the metaphor; a fake smile and pretending to be okay, even when you're hurting like hell. Leonardo stares at me with compassion and a sense of understanding.

Biting his lip, Leonardo hesitates to make another move. The song carries on without him, quieter now without his outgoing singing. His hands float away from my face, drifting down to mine. Our fingers lace together between our chests, our noses rub against each other, and I stare into his eyes. Those Galaxy eyes.

"You don't have to be okay, Raphael," Leonardo mutters, choked up. "You always tell me that you're alright, but I know that you aren't. And in all honesty, I don't think I want you to be."

My eyes widen at this, because not only is it sudden, but it's also a confession deeper than the bottom of an ocean.

He doesn't want me to be okay? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I'm unsteady on my feet, even though I'm leaning against the counter top with Leonardo in front of me. I feel like I'm going to faint despite the physical support.

"You should get the food," I whisper, dodging eye contact, "we don't want it to burn."

Blushing from embarrassment, Leonardo releases his grip on my hands, walking back over to the stove. I take a deep, calming breath. I need to recover from that, I need some time alone.

"I'm gonna go smoke, I'll be back in a second." Collecting a lighter and pack of cigarettes from the shelf beside the front door, I get what I need before stepping out.

Leonardo whips around, completely ignoring the burnt pancakes he's supposed to be saving. "Can I come too?" Judging by the look on his face, hunger and craving, I'd assume that he wants a cigarette as well.

Shaking my head profoundly, I can't help but glare. "No. No more smoking for you," I state sternly.

Whining, Leonardo complains, "Oh, come on. A couple'a cigarettes never hurt anybody!"

"A couple of cigarettes have fucking killed people, Leonardo!" I bellow dramatically. He clearly doesn't like my yelling, as he puts on a scowl in replacement of the pout he'd been wearing.

Shaking my head, I correct myself in a calm, leisurely manner. "You do not need these in your life. I'm trying to save you before you get addicted; I already failed with the alcohol, I'm not going to let you down again."

Perhaps I was crossing my boundaries by mentioning his binge drinking—I really didn't mean to upset him—but I had to get my point across, and unfortunately, this would've been the only way to do so.

Out of shock, my husband doesn't reply. His jaw drops dramatically and his eyes are wider than the moon. I don't stick around any longer after I watch him ball his hands into fists.

He follows me out onto the porch, though, a thunderstorm following his stomping feet. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He demands viciously.

"That I know about your drinking and if you have an addictive personality then I don't want this to get blown out of proportion as well," I state matter-of-factly.

Leonardo folds his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes into slits as he eyes the cigarette I'm working on lighting. "Oh, you know me so fucking well, don't ya?"

Puffing out a cloud of smoke, I chuckle, glancing at Leo out of the corner of my eye. The corners of my lips twitch up in a smile as I say sarcastically, "Well, we are married."

"Not exactly what I meant," Leonardo sighs stubbornly. He's leaning his carapace against the rails outlining the deck. His face is buried in the palms of his hands. He takes a long inhale and exhale before looking up at me again. "I'm not addicted to drinking, that I can promise you. A person can only be addicted to one thing, and I'm already addicted to you." His eyes are sincere as he confesses this. He puts a hand on my bicep. "I love you, Raphael."

Pursing my lips, I hand my partially smoke cigarette to Leonardo, who gladly takes it. I can't help put frown, though, when he puts it in his mouth and a relieved expression flashes across his face.

"And I love you, Leonardo. That's why I'm saying all of this; I just want the best for you." I reach my hand forward to caress his cheek, an act that he accepts willingly. He leans into my touch. "Why do you drink?"

Leonardo drops the cigarette, done with smoking it's ashes. He stomps on it, smearing it against the wooden porch we stand on. "It takes my mind off of things."

As I stare into his sapphire eyes in wonder, he places his hand over mine. "What sort of things?" I inquire.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he's at a loss of words. His brow furrows. He looks fearful.

Gently, I lift him into my arms, holding him bridal style. His arms instantly wrap around my neck and I miss the crown of his beautiful face. "The depression. The suicidal thoughts. I want it all to just go away."

I nearly drop him as I stumble backwards. Luckily, there's a couch to fall onto.

I never expected to hear this, and if I'm being quite honest, I can't even begin to comprehend it.

Leonardo . . . depressed? No. No way in fucking goddamn hell. He's strong, fearless, the great warrior we all look up to. He is the man of this family and I'd be damned if he something as simple as depression could bring him down. Course, this is coming from the brawny, stuck up, hotheaded man who's been battling depression for nearly a decade by now. Sometimes, it doesn't matter how strong or weak you are, just that you are.

You are human.

You are capable of feeling emotion.

You are capable of loving and hating.

You are you.

That's what determines your depression, those three things.

Leonardo shifts in my arms, moving to bury his face in the crook of my neck. His knees are bent at either side of me, his arms wrapped around my body. "I'm sorry that it had to come out like this," he murmurs between forceful sobs, "but I can't hold it in any longer.

I rub his back comfortingly. "No, no, baby, you're okay. I understand completely, you know that I've been through this. Hell, I'm still going through this. I want to help you like you've helped me. So, let's go inside and talk about it over breakfast, alright?"

Sniffling, Leonardo lifts his head away from my neck. I brush away all of his strayed tears as he nods.

"Everything is gonna be alright, I promise."

Course, I should've learned by now not to make promises I can't keep.

* * *

Forever and always, remember?

— (Instagram)


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello darlings! Long time no see. Very sorry for the hiatus, I've had a MAJOR case of writers block. Enough about me, though. Thank you for the reviews for the previous chapters, please keep it up! Also, special shoutout to Jenasisity for submitting this chapterns quote; I really appreciate it! If anyone else has any quotes, fell free to leave them in a review or PM me. All I ask is that you give credits to your source.**

 **Well, enjoy and review!**

A collection of thoughts and a sequence of phrases for me to comprehend. He talks, verbalizing the depression he's dealt with for the past seven years. Seven years and I never knew, seven years and I've never helped him.

Our first breakfast was burnt to the crisp when we both fled to the porch in argument, hence the reason why I'm fixing us up a new one. Having just finished the pancakes, I stack them onto a glass plate and set them on the table beside the bacon and eggs. Leonardo, still talking, rises from his chair, but as I pass by, I push him back down, knowing exactly what he wants.

"I was stressed out when I was chosen to be leader, but it really took a toll on me when you and the others repeatedly questioned me," Leonardo admits while dumping a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate.

I take the syrup and iced tea out of the fridge, closing the door with my foot. "You mean when I repeatedly questioned you," I correct with a smirk.

Leonardo smiles, eyeing the glass of tea I'm pouring him. "Okay, yeah, you added to my areas way more than Donnie and Mikey did."

I take my seat across from my husband, fixing my own plate. "Is that what started your depression? The constant fighting and sudden distance between me and you?"

"If I'm being honest, yeah, that's exactly what started it." Sighing, Leonardo reached his hand across the table, placing it over mine. "I love you, though, you know?"

I nod, lips twitching upwards at the seams. "Without a doubt in my mind, sweetheart. The way I see it, we've always needed each other beyond comprehension. So when we fight and then lose each other, it ends up feeling like we've lost everything."

"We were stupid back then," Leonardo says through a mouthful of bacon. "Too full of pride to own up to our feelings, to try to get each other back."

Beneath the table Leonardo's feet rest on top of mine, keeping me warm. Atop the table, I hold his hand while shoveling a forkful of pancakes into my mouth.

"Hate to break it to ya, but we still are, babe. What else would you call two weeks ago when we didn't talk to each other for six days?" Clearing my throat, I take my stare off of my food, and instead, bring my gaze to my husband's eyes. "The entire time we were apart I thought of you, ya know. I wondered what you were doing, and if you missed me. Most of all, though, I wondered when you were gonna come for me. I shoulda just shoved my ego aside and run home to you."

Leonardo smiles sadly. His eyes drift away from mine, falling downward. They land upon our held hands, and that's when the smile fades.

A lonesome tear curves with his face. I'm at his side before it has the chance to hit the table.

"Baby, what's wrong?" My eyes are wide with question and concern as I stare at my lover. His sapphire eyes are lined with tears and they just keep coming. I brush them away, wiping my thumbs across his cheeks.

"W-when you l-left, I-I was just so-so lost. I-I didn't know how to cope," Leonardo sniffles, on the verge of sobbing.

I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his knees. "Just say it, Leo, don't hold back. I'm here for you, sweetheart."

Backing up, I lower myself onto the ground in front of Leonardo, giving him space as he stands up and pushes his chair back. He sits on the ground, fiddling with the wraps around his wrist. Biting his lip, Leo extends his hand, urging me to take it. I can't believe what I see when my eyes fixate on his wrist.

"I'm so sorry darling!" Leonardo wails. The sight of his own actions drains all color from his face. His eyes lose the happiness they once held so willingly. Everything about him—his form, his facial expression, the vibes that radiate off of his body—is utterly off. "I didn't mean to, I swear. I was just so . . . so depressed."

I don't reply, don't mutter a single word. I wear a blank expression, a mere flatline mouth and cloudy eyes. My fingers trail over the lines marking his skin. The scars. The cuts. The self harm.

Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes, frowning deeply. I never thought the day would come where I saw my husband self harm. I suppose that I always had it in my mind that he was happy; forever and always. I seemingly forgot that he isn't a robot. He has emotions and he battles self doubt and depression and frustration just like anyone else.

I'm not mad at Leonardo for this, he seems to think that I am but the truth is, I could never really be angry with him. I never have been. Throughout the years, I've hidden behind a mask of frustration, the kind that hurts those around me. In all honesty, though, I've always admired Leo deep down, always looked up to him. My infuriation was jealousy because I knew I'd never be as good as him. My hatred was a product of my misery, because I knew that he would never appreciate me.

I forgive him for this, because I know—very, very well—what it's like to feel so dead, that the only way to let life back into your soul is to cut yourself and watch the blood deep from the fresh wound. The only person I hate for this is myself.

I should've been there for him in his darkest hour. Fuck, I should've seen the depression! It was so clearly there, lurking in the pits of his eyes. I should've saved him, should've held him while he wept. I should've been the husband he deserves.

Exhale, and my eyes flutter open, reuniting with his. Surrounding the deep blue irises in those beautiful orbs is a mist of red clouds that rain down tears.

Delicately, I bring his wrist up to my mouth, and gift his cuts with a series of kisses. "Beautiful," I murmur, over and over again, just as he did for me five short years ago.

Sitting up straighter, I let go of his hand, letting it fall back into his lap. I caress his cheek, staring him in the eyes as I tell him, "You're beautiful, my love."

My lips crash into his greedily, a kiss so intense that I begin to question where I end and he begins. With one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his shoulder, and his on my plastron, we're close than I ever thought we could be.

They're wrong when they tell you that sex is the highest form of romance in a relationship. I can tell you for a fact, that right now, when me and my husband are kissing, each of us crying from the tragedies we've faced, when our tears meet in the middle and fall onto our laps from there, that I have never felt anything more romantic in my life. I'm suddenly one with the love of my life, closer than I ever thought possible. I don't ever want to leave this state.

Leonardo is depressed, I now know. He's cut his skin open in ways I have, he's shed tears at the sight of the aftermath. He's begged for forgiveness, sobbing between hiccups and sniffles. Let out words of hysteria. He's just like me.

I now see, that me and my husband truly are one in the same. Exactly alike.

I've made many promises thought the corse of my life, ones I can't keep, ones I've accomplished thus far. Mostly, ones I can't help but abandon.

On this day, I make many. I know that I'll break most, I'll fail and lose the trust of the ones that I love. But there is one, one that I'd rather die than betray.

I'm going to fulfill this vow, stay with it to the end.

I'm going to be there for my husband.

Today.

Tomorrow.

Forever.

* * *

"Raph, sweetie, wake up." The mixture of Leonardo's soft voice and a patting on my shoulder is enough to wake me up. My eyes dart over to the alarm clock, which so clearly reads, "1:38," in bold, red digits.

"It's too early to be awake, Leo," I mumble as I roll over onto my side, putting him behind me.

"But I have something important to tell you. Like, right now." I can practically hear the grin in his voice. His hand is still on my shoulder shaking me a little more forcefully than before. "It's important, I promise!"

Heaving a sigh, I turn back around. My eyes fall upon his, which are wide as saucers, gleaming with excitement.

"Fine, what's up?" I ask, a yawn vibrating throughout my throat.

My husband turns on the lamp on my bedside table, a toothy smile stretching from ear to ear. "I'm pregnant," he whispers.

"What?!" I demand. I practically jump out of bed, my feet meeting the floor with a loud 'thump.' I grab Leonardo by his elbows and yank him upwards. "Are you serious?" I ask in disbelief. "I thought that you already tested negative? We haven't had sex since then."

"I tried again twice—just now—and I tested positive!" Leonardo shouts, beaming with joy. "We're going to have a baby," he whispers.

Leo's hands stroke my upper plastron, and I place mine over his. "We're going to have a family."

I lean forward, pressing my smiling lips to his. He's never kissed me this softly, with such love and affection. Better yet, I've never held him so tightly.

Most of all, though, theres never been a spark so promising.

We're going to have a family.

* * *

"The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds." – Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook


	14. Chapter 14

It's scary, isn't it? How incredibly ignorant people truly are. We can't see what's coming, we're utterly oblivious to the signs of evil omen. We get the taste of something we like, and suddenly, we're blind, unable to see anything other than what we choose. And, obviously, we choose to only see the good.

That isn't the scary part though.

The frightening part comes later, after you've lost the things you've held dear. At first, you're probably thinking, 'Well gee, that isn't scary. Upsetting, yes, but not scary.' Well I'm here to prove you wrong.

Just imagine it, sit down, and picture this.

You're empty handed for the first time in forever. Your everything turned into nothing, leaving you feeling empty and helpless. Within the first few days, you're merely disappointed that you lost whatever it is that you had. But it isn't long until you're reflecting upon your loss, and when you do that, you come to realize that you had it so tight in your grip, that you're the only one who could've let it go.

What? Not what you were expecting? Look at this way: a woman is walking down the street, holding her purse by its straps. A man runs by and attempts to grab it. No matter how hard he were to try to take it from the woman, the only way he could snatch it is if she let go. Sure, the burglar's tugging was the beginning of her release, but that's all it was. The beginning. She took on from there, letting go of the purse, letting him get away.

That's exactly what loss is. Something pushes you to let go, and eventually, you do. It's gone now, out of your grasp.

Back to the scenario.

So you're finally coming to terms that it was your fault that you lost what you held dear, and you aren't liking it. It's terrible, telling yourself that it was your fault, repeatedly thinking about how if you just did one thing differently, then you wouldn't be in such a solemn state. That's when you start beating yourself up for it, calling yourself worthless and stupid. Eventually, you sink into a void, a void that's big and foggy. There isn't an escape, no ones ever made it out alive.

Like to guess what this void is called?

Depression.

Depression is, as I like to say, like a child on a swing set. Someone—or something, in some cases—gives them a little push, and from there, it's all on them. They pump their legs and fly higher and higher into the sky. Deeper and deeper into depression.

And if that isn't enough to convince you, then consider this. One day, you'll find something else to be happy about, and you fall back into the same ignorant, blind state as before; only worse this time. Its a broken record; the same song playing over and over. The same sad song.

It's ironic, I do suppose, for me to be pondering over the matter, smiling to myself, because guess what? I'm happy. I'm pushing my pregnant husband on the tire swing in front of our beautiful cabin. I'm telling myself that it's all smooth sailing from here; everything is gonna be okay. The irony is that I'm ignoring my exact thoughts, saying that everything is good when I previously stated that this is when it all goes downhill. In fact, I'm only a few weeks away from a traumatizing experience, one that'll last for just over a month. I'll go through hell during those six weeks; miserable and afraid.

As of right now, though, I'm choosing to ignore the on growing chance of despair, focusing instead on the here and now. Fixating my attention on the wide smile playing on my husband's beautiful face as he laughs, telling me to push him faster. Round and round he goes, on the makeshift swing, a broken record.

* * *

"How are we going to tell the others?" Leonardo ponders, his gaze fixated on the ceiling as if it held the answers.

We're in the bathroom—or, more precisely, I'm in the bathroom and he's standing in the doorway, watching me brush my teeth. I rinse my tooth brush one last time before putting it back in the holder and turning the faucet off.

Leaning my shell against the counter, I turn my head to meet my husband's expectant glance. "We'll just tell them at Ellie's birthday party," I reply with a shrug. "Which, by the way, starts in fifteen minutes. It'll take us twenty five to get out there, and we both know you're going to want to stop to look at some animals on the way there. We're already late, so we better hop onto my motet cycle before Karai has to chance to call in complaints." Grabbing Leo by the wrist, I drag him out of our bedroom and down the stairs.

"Well, duh. But how?" Halting, I glance at Leo over my shoulder. Worry is spelt across his face, ridding his sapphire eyes of their usual brightness.

I frown, not liking the way the anxiety is overriding him like this. My grip falls from his wrist down to his hand, where our fingers lace together. I pull him towards me and press a kiss to his cheek. "How about we tell Ellie that she's getting a little cousin as a birthday present? And later, if—I'm sorry, when—Karai and Mikey ask questions, me and Donnie will answer them the best we can."

Still looking doubtful, Leonardo furrows his brow. "What about me?"

"You just enjoy yourself tonight," I instruct sternly. "All of this worrying can't be good for the baby."

Color is lifted into Leo's cheeks at the mention of our unborn child. Smiling, he nods in agreement. "You're right, Raph. There's nothing to worry about, this is family we're talking about."

* * *

"You're what?!" Karai shouts in a disgusted tone.

"I'm pregnant," Leonardo repeats. He's trying to stay strong, I can see it in his eyes. But he's only this far away from breaking under the pressure Karai's applying.

Out of instinct, I lay a protective hand on Leo's shoulder. He shrugs me away and glances at me, shaking his head, as if to say, "I don't need you now. I'm good on my own, thanks."

I shrink back into the couch cushion, wanting to fold up and become invisible. I hate it when he doesn't need or want me. I want him to love me to the extent that he can't bear to live without so much as my finger tips grazing his skin.

That would be unfair, though. Everyone needs a little space, even from their loved ones. Sometimes, there are chapters in your life where you need the spotlight all to yourself.

"I can't believe this," Karai mutters in a revolted tone. Smiling down at Ellie, who's playing with a new pack of Hot Wheels, she says, "Come on, Birthday girl, let's go get some cake and ice cream for everyone."

The two of them prance out of the room, the mother holding the daughter's hand, faking a smile for her child's sake. Next thing I know, Leonardo is standing as well, pushing himself up from his spot on the floor in front of me. "I'm gonna step outside for a second." His excuse is as airy as a gasp, a mere breath against the stillness of the room.

I exchange a look with Donatello before lifting off of the couch and stepping towards my husband. "I'll come, too." It's like an offer, clearly one he won't take, either, as he gently pushes a hand against my plastron. "Just me," he corrects. His eyes are narrowed slightly, and for a short second, I think he's waiting for me to argue. I don't.

Sighing, I glance at the other two people in the room; Mikey and Donnie. The former is slouched back in a chair across the room, whilst the latter is sitting beside me on the couch. "Either of you plan on leaving?" I ask jokingly, though, my heart isn't all in it.

I want to rush out onto the porch to take Leonardo by the hand and pull him close. When I have him in a firm embrace, I'll smile against his warm, almond scented skin and murmur, "I'm here for you, baby."

I can't, though. He wants to be alone and I should respect that. I should, but I don't. For some reason, it fills me with irritation when he pushes me away, especially when he needs it most. Perhaps it's because I now know of the depression he's been battling for the past seven years.

Frowning, I stare down at my bandaged wrists, imagining the slit skin that hides beneath the lazily wrapped cloth. I wonder if this is how he felt whenever I used to deny his help. Useless and unwanted, like a dog on a chain. Or a shoe in a box, with absolutely no place to go.

"I'm really sorry about Karai," Mikey apologizes in a sheepish tone. A blush of embarrassment seeps into his freckled cheeks, adding a pinkish beam to his chubby little face. "I honestly don't know what's gotten into her lately."

"She's just a homophobe," I scoff with a roll of my eyes. "Remember how she reacted to me and Leo getting together?"

Frowning, Mikey lifts his gaze off of the floor to meet my unimpressed stare. "I think that was just 'cause she used to date him."

"Doesn't excuse the way she treats us!" I shout, leaping to my feet. A slight flinch from Donnie is enough to settle me down. Inhaling deeply, I try again, "Look, Mike, the second she doesn't like something something—whether it concerns her or not—she goes berserk, ya gotta admit that much."

"Well, I guess you're right. It's just . . ," Mikey trails off, his eyes falling upon something that must be intriguing, for his pupils enlarge a noticeable amount.

Turning my head, I follow his gaze, only to a find a wide eyed Donatello greeting Michelangelo's stare kindly.

This outta be the strangest thing I've ever witnessed, as I haven't seen Donnie that look in his eyes in what feels like forever. Not since April . . .

"Am I missing something?" I demand, suddenly confused beyond words.

They both snap out of the long held stare, jumping at the abrupt noise. Clearing his throat, my brother attempts to take attention away from the maroon blush that's taking over his face. "I'm gonna go get something to drink," he excused himself in a hushed voice.

I watch the purple cladded turtle retreat to the kitchen, stumbling over his own feet.

Looking back over at Mikey, I raise a brow. "What's up with him?" I'm not quite sure why I ask, to be completely honest, because he's about as flurries as Don.

Shaking his head, Michelangelo chuckles. "I don't know. Kinda strange huh?"

I nod, but don't say a word in response. My lips are twisted into a tight knot, and my arms are folded across my chest. Everyone is acting so out of place today, as if overwhelmed by having us all be in the same place at once. It could be because of the events that occurred the previous Friday, but I seriously doubt it. Arguments have never split our family or made us ecstatic around each other; not to this level, at least.

Sitting back down on the couch, I rub my temple, already exhausted and ready for bed.

"He's been acting really weird around me, lately, and I have no idea why. Do you?"

I chuckle, putting on an amused smirk. If Mikey thinks that I know every last detail about Donnie just because we're blood brothers, he's got another thing coming. Because I can assure you, our relation has changed almost nothing between us.

"Could be 'cause you didn't come to dinner that one week, but I dunno."

Michelangelo shakes his head in denial. "No, because it's not like he's mad. He's just . . . distant."

"That's Donnie for ya. He's always been a loner; when we were kids, teens, and even now."

"No, not with me. Donnie has never been distant with me. We have," Mikey pauses, searching for the right words. He's frowning at his hands, which are clasped together on his lap. When he finally finds the perfect way to finish his statement, he looks up at me with a grin, "special connections."

I would've asked what he meant by that, but I didn't get the chance before the rest of the family came back in, ready for cake and ice cream.

Karai acted as if she weren't ready to explode.

Mikey put a grin back on his face.

Leo pretended to be okay.

Donnie attempted to fool us all with a sociable attitude.

And I sat in the corner of the couch, gaze fixated on my dessert as I tried to figure out what exactly was happening to my beloved family.

* * *

Be careful . . . not all are what they seem. Some people pretend to be the beach, but they're actually quick sand.

— Steve Maraboli


	15. Chapter 15

Labeling Leonardo as persistent would be an understatement when it came to the subject of baby names. He never wanted to stop talking about it, constantly bringing up that we don't have the luxury of nine months to choose, we only have four. Within the next 18 weeks, we would have to have a name, whether it be for a girl or a boy.

It's already been decided that we would stick with the Renaissance theme our father started, although, we won't go with artists, but rather, the names of the people Raphael and da Vinci painted and sculpted. This was Leo's idea, of course, I wouldn't've been able to come up with something so clever on my own.

I'm drawing, trying to take my mind off of things. It's a simple sketch, though, to me, it holds more meaning in its lightly brushed lines than all the pictures in the world combined. Carefully drawn, with details more precise than ever.

I was just finishing up with his left hand when the subject himself walked in; my Leonardo. A warm smile spread across my lips when I glanced up to see my husband. He was holding a box, one that looked awfully dusty, too.

"Whatcha got there?" I inquire, setting my drawing materials on the floor when Leonardo came to sit beside me on our bed.

"One of Splinters old boxes. He had it marked as 'Renaissance' so maybe this'll help us come up with some names," Leonardo replies with a shrug.

I help him open the box, setting it in front of us. We're sitting with folded legs, our knees pressed against each other.

He's highly focused on sifting through the box, moving several books out of the way, trying to find a specific one, it seems.

He mindlessly hands me a small stack, mumbling something about looking through them. I shrug and lean back against my pillows. Opening up to the first page, my eyes wander, skimming through the paragraphs blankly. I've never been one for history, that's always been Leo. Even Donnie wasn't as big a fan of the past as he was of science.

It fascinated my husband, though. I could tell not just because he reads of it constantly, but also by the way his eyes lit up with excitement and thrill. He soaked up each and every word that came flying off of those yellowed pages, allowing the meaning to embed itself in his open mind.

I tried to pay attention to the reading material I was given, but after twenty minutes, I couldn't take it any longer. It was far too boring and I couldn't find any names, only details on Raphael's private life and death, and da Vinci's morbid work ethics and the mystery behind the Mona Lisa. I do suppose that that name would work, though, I don't find the name to be very appealing. It sounds to bland, like an unseasoned chicken breast. I'd prefer some spice, something mildly intriguing. And anyhow, Mona Lisa is just too basic; I want something utterly original.

I hastily drop the books onto the floor, causing Leonardo to flinch. "Careful, Raphael. Those aren't exactly replaceable," he scolded, glancing away from his book long enough to glare at me.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his reaction.

Gathering all of my supplies, I lifted my sketch book and pencils up onto the bed. This certainly grasped Leonardo's attention.

He grinned, watching me pull out a stick of charcoal to outline my sketch with.

I was so incredibly concentrated on the task that I didn't notice that Leo was leaning on me until he spoke.

"Why don't you ever draw yourself?" He asks in a whisper. His voice is lined with wonder, a tone I adore hearing in his fruity voice.

Leonardo wraps his arms around my waist from behind, scooting closer to me. With his chin resting on my shoulder, he can eye delicate strokes intently, inhaling my every movement like a breath of air.

I furrow my brow, frowning down at my art work. It's so like Leo to question why I always draw him. He's so humble, never recognizing his true value. He doesn't see how important he is to me. Through his eyes—his miraculous, sapphire eyes—he is just below the ordinary; nothing special, no one worth making a fuss over. But dear lord, he's so much more than that.

He doesn't realize that I love him more than words can describe. It truly upsets me at times where I realize that 'I love you's are about as far as I can go to express my admiration for the blue cladded terrapin. I've never been one with words, not like him. He can contrast the most detail statement with only a couple of words and some charred syllables. Leo—my sweet, thoughtful Leo—treats writing like fabric. He sews words together, creating paragraphs that grow to be pages and pages that become chapters. A story is born from a simple thread, weaved with many more to create something extraordinary. And if he messes up, then he simply creates a new pattern in the textiles, working around the error.

That's what makes him strong: when something bad creeps into his life, he doesn't mind it, taking it as a benefit rather than a downfall. To him, everything can be crafted into an advantage.

I'm not like that, though, despite how much I try to be. I cower at the mere sight of danger; I look it in the eyes and begin to cry, whilst my husband returns it's threatening glare.

Leonardo is the only thing I ever want to draw. After all, why draw a beast when you could draw a prince?

"Self portraits aren't really my thing," I admit in a dull tone, not paying much attention to anything other than my picture.

"Maybe they should become your thing. I'd love to see a drawing of my gorgeous husband." Now that puts a smile on my face.

Turning my head slightly to the right, I meet his gaze. He's grinning back at me, beaming with a joy that I'd kill to have.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

"Darling, I know you are," Leonardo replies. He uncurls his arms from around me and makes himself comfortable on my lap instead.

His hands wander up to my face as he caresses my cheeks. Mine are on his neck and shoulder, holding him close to me. But not too close, because I'm enjoying being able to stare into his eyes, to read the motions that so rightfully lay there.

"You're even more gorgeous, though. You're beautiful, and stunning and dashing," I compliment. My gaze wanders away from his, falling upon his snout and lips and neck. Collar bone and plastron and masculine arms. Meaty thighs and arched knees and feet. I took in every inch of him, craving to have it all to myself.

I wanted to cover him in a layer of kisses that'll spread across his luxurious body, wrapping around him like a blanket. I wanted to hold him tightly against my chest and growl like a lion as I muttered, "mine," over and over again. I wanted to run outside and scream, "Leonardo da Vinci Hamato is the most beautiful man in the world," just so that I wasn't the only man aware of his perfection.

Leonardo shakes his head in denial with my words. His hands fall away from my face. Now they're draped around my neck; loosely. "Then why don't I feel beautiful, Raphie? Why do I look at myself and see nothing short of ugly?"

My lips pull down into a deep, unforgiving frown. I very much hate it when he speaks of himself like this, in the context of being an absolute monster. Why can't he see what I see? He's extraordinarily perfect, the kind that fills you with envy after a simple glance his way. He's everything I've aspired to be. He's everything that matters to me.

And I want to show it to him.

"C'mere," I say, slipping out from beneath him. "I have something to show you."

* * *

"Raph, what are we doing in here?" Leonardo asks in a dull tone. A spell of exhaustion has been cast upon him, and it opens my eyes wider. When I gaze at him, I see that he isn't really tired, it's the depression that's getting him down. And my goal? Lift him up, high into the heavens.

He's watching me set up picture frames on the bathroom counter. It's clear that he's brewing with curiosity as I stick post-it notes over other faces in the pictures, leaving only his visible. That glowing grin. I love it. I love him.

Finished, I stand up tall, grabbing Leo by the shoulders. "Stand in front of this mirror, and study these pictures. Then, tell me what you see."

I side step away, presenting my husband to his reflection. His face drops, and a hurricane rolls into his eyes. Rain pours down, curving with his face, drenching his mask.

I hold my breath, afraid of what he's going to do next.

He's glaring at himself, two sapphire eyes narrowed at their reflection. His clenched fists are unnerving, and his curled lips unsettling.

"I see," he hisses through gritted teeth, "nothing that's desirable." He breaks down then, sobbing into his right hand. His left fist bangs against the mirror, causing the glass to crack. I flinch at the movement.

"What do you even see in me? I'm ugly, I'm disgusting. I'm nothing." This last claim strikes me hard, like a bullet hole.

He thinks he's nothing. He thinks he's nothing but he's everything. He's my everything.

"Don't you ever fucking say that, you hear me?" I seethe, pointing a finger at him.

Leonardo whips around, staring at me through tear glistened eyes. "It's true, though. You don't want me, not when you could have anyone else."

My glare fades away, settling into a disappointed frown and droopy eyes. "Come here, I wanna hold you,"I declare proudly.

With his head bowed, Leo drags himself across the bathroom floor. He falls into my arms, and the way he collapses makes him feel like dead weight. He isn't though. Dear lord, he isn't dead weight.

"Nothing you see in that mirror is true, understand?" I inquire sternly.

Face buried in the crook of my neck, Leonardo shook his head no.

Sighing, a warm smile forms on my face.

Then I'll show him.

"You've only ever seen yourself twice: your reflection in a mirror, and in pictures. You don't see the way your eyes light up when you smile, or how cute you look with your snout scrunched up as you laugh. You don't know who you are, because every time you see yourself, it's a fake representation.

"You'll never see yourself the way I do. But I can assure you, I'll be there to tell you just how lovely you look."

I don't get much of a reaction out of him, he only stands there, pressing into me.

After a moment or two of continuous silence, I lift him—bridal style—into my arms. He hasn't moved his head, still nuzzling into my neck. He doesn't really pull away until I sit him on the countertop. His eyes meet mine, full of sorrow and tears. I wipe them clean.

"You're depression is what's making you think this way; trust me, I've been there a thousand times before. Please, I beg of you, ignore the voices. Listen to what I'm telling you and try your very best to believe me." He tries to look away, obviously disliking the firm tone I'm using to speak to him with, but I grab his chin, holding his face in front of mine. Our eyes are locked and I intend on keeping it that way.

"I love you, Leo," I whisper truthfully.

He relaxes, as if hit by a wave of defeat. "I love you, too," he replies.

I shake my head, because the look in his eye is telling me that he doesn't get what I'm saying. "I'm not saying it like we do every day. I mean it, I'm in love with you. Please don't ever think any differently."

Leo smiles at me, giving me that adorably goofy grin he always wears during moments like these. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I know, and I love you, baby."

He tugs at my mask, tearing it off entirely. He plants another kiss between my eyes. "You're the only thing I have left."

His lips graze my skin as they move downward. "I care about you more than anything." He pecks the tip of my snout.

Drawing back, Leonardo attempts to fight back an on growing grin. He's looking down, watching my hands massage his thighs. When his eyes meet mine again—because mine didn't dare leave his ravishing face—he confesses something that I'll hold onto for the rest of eternity, carrying it with me to the grave.

"I'm not going to let you go; ever."

Then his lips crash against mine, sending a bolt of electricity raving through me. His hands are stroking up and down my neck.

I take him into my arms, and his legs wrap around my middle.

His mouth is warm and wet, gliding against mine greedily and full of desperation. He's moving faster with every passing second, until finally, his lips are tracking away from mine.

He kissed the corner of my lips first, then my cheek. He makes his way down my neck, and I moan, enjoying the pleasure he's offering me.

"Damnit, Leo, I don't ever wanna be away from you," I churr.

My husband nibbles on the skin on my neck that he knows to be sensitive, causing for another chorus of moans to take over the room, bouncing off of the walls and floors.

Leonardo adjusts in my arms, moving away from my neck so he can meet my gentle glance. I can still feel his kisses embedded upon my neck. "I would die for you, I hope you know that," he admits with a voice full of pride.

"No, I don't want you to die for me. I want you to live for me." I set him on the ground. He's standing and suddenly I'm kneeling before him. I kiss his belly. "I want you to live for me and our child."

Leo takes my hand in his, rubbing the top of my bare head as I kiss his belly repeatedly.

My child is in there, whether it be a girl or a boy, I don't yet know. It doesn't matter, not to me. I'll take what I can get, I'll love him or her either way, forever and always.

My husband asks me to take him to bed; his back is stiff and he wants to sleep. I fall asleep with my head on his stomach and his left hand in mine.

"I love you, Leonardo da Vinci Hamato," I whisper against the nights air.

If only I'd known that time was running short. Pretty soon, I'd speak these words for the last time for a long time. We'd both be dying then, slowly being dragged into our own personal hells.

* * *

When I was dead, you gave me new life. I'm lifting you up with all of my might. I don't care who's to the left, to the right. You're all that's on my mind. Don't really care what they say, what they think, I feel so alive. I'm unashamed, I'm wide awake. Not gonna hide, can't deny you're my everything.

— Skillet (Famous)


	16. Chapter 16

_It's completely dark out, save for the full moon and sea of stars overhead. His eyes are like flashlights, igniting the night with a glow powerful enough to blind me. Despite the brightness, I can't find a reason to look away._

 _I wonder why I'm so attracted to the sight of him. A couple of months ago, I saw him as a brother. Now I don't know what he is._

 _I shiver against the bitter winds, catching Leonardo's attention just as I look away from him. He smirks at me, wearing his famous I-told-you-so expression. "Would you like to share the blanket?" He asks._

 _Despite a simple shake of my head, Leo scoots over towards me—I don't know how he does it so carelessly, I'm scared just looking at him. This roof is steep and old, shingles falling off at just the slightest flinch of a movement. I pray to the gods in the sky that he doesn't fall._

 _I grunt, trying to express my displease. Leonardo ignores my immature actions entirely, too busy wrapping a blanket around the both of us to care._

 _When he has it draped over my shoulder, he grins at me. "See, much better," he states joyfully._

 _I try my absolute hardest to suppress the oncoming smile, but it fights it's way onto my face, lifting my lips upward. "Yeah, I guess so, Leo."_

 _"What, no fancy nickname?" Leonardo pouts._

 _I furrow my brow, letting my smile drop. I look away from my companion, as if not acknowledging his presence would make him and his question go away._

 _But I can feel him under the blanket, shifting in a way that makes our skin brush. He's warm against my cold body._

 _"Raph . . ," he trails off. His eyes are on me, wide and full of wonder. I swear to god, those eyes don't belong to him. They belong to a sweet, innocent doe, a precious baby animal that Leo's soul so rightly resembles. The color, though, was stolen from sapphires themselves. That's why they shimmer, they're crystals. Crystals carved into spheres and embedded in a doe's face._

 _I wait for him to say something, not knowing any words that I could muster worth speaking. I don't want to shatter the silence we bathe in._

 _Leonardo has never enjoyed silence, to him, it's like an empty battle ground. Why stand and watch when you could fight?_

 _That's exactly what he does now: leaps into a fight._

 _"What are we?"_

 _Ah, the million dollar question. What are me and Leonardo? Are we brothers or lovers? He wants so badly to be the latter, but I'm afraid to be. What if something goes wrong? We'd never look at each other the same again. If we broke up, I wouldn't just be losing a brother, I'd also be losing a best friend._

 _I can't let the happen._

 _"Brothers. Best friends," I answer in an an emotionless tone._

 _"Boyfriends?"_

 _I glanced over at him, meeting his desperate gaze. A low growl rumbled in my throat._

 _"Not this again," I muttered, pushing away from him. It hasn't even been a week since he last brought this up, and honestly, I was beginning to grow tired of turning him down. One more time and I may just give in to him, all for the sake of shutting him up. Or maybe, because I think there's a chance that I could be falling for him, too._

 _"Raph, wait!" He grabs my wrist, keeping me from going anywhere. His bottom lip is quivering, eyes lined with tears. "Please don't go, okay? I understand if I'm being a pest, and I get that you're not interested, it's just that . . . I'm in love with you. And I don't think I'm prepared to take no as an answer. I'll stop asking, though, if that's what you want. But please, whatever you do, don't leave me."_

 _My expression softens as I take in the sight of him._

 _He's vulnerable, I can definitely see that. But it's the reason why he's vulnerable that certainly catches me off guard. It isn't because he's weak and defenseless, it's because he's in love._

 _Up until this moment in time, I thought that he emotion he claimed to experience was infatuation. The look in his eyes is telling me differently._

 _I've never seen a set of eyes broadcast something as purely his do now. They're bright and gleaming with a sense of hope, and yet, the outskirts of the irises are painted with fear. Fear of rejection, fear of losing the one he loves most._

 _Never in my sixteen years of life have I had someone stare at me like this. This is the first time I've come face to face with someone who truly loves me._

 _I've read about instances such as these, where one confesses his love to another. There are times where the proclaimer is turned down, and times where their love is returned. It's clear that Leonardo desires the latter, though, he's expecting the former._

 _I do fancy a relationship with Leo, but it's too risky._

 _But so is turning him down._

 _What if he grows to be depressed? What if he involves himself in the same sinful acts I had? What if I lose him to sadness, all because I was too much of a coward to return his love?_

 _That thought is the only thing I need to convince me to take it to the next level with him._

 _I put on my most mischievous face as I sit back down beside him. With a sly smirk I say, "Is that really how you ask a man out?"_

 _His eyes widen, and the weight of the world his lifted off of his shoulder. His grimace fades into a delighted smile. "Raphael," he starts, a joyful tone filling his ecstatic voice, "will you go out with me?"_

 _I pull him onto my lap and don't hesitate to lean my forehead on his. My left hand is on his neck, while my right cups his cheek. "Yes, Leonardo, I will."_

 _He grins, a giggle escaping through the cracks of his teeth. A single tear drops down his face. I've never seen him so thrilled in my life. I'm glad I was the one who filled him with such emotions._

 _Leo leans in to kiss me, eyes closed and lips parted. I raise a finger to those lips, though, stopping his immense leaning. "There are a few things I'd like to say first, though," I announce._

 _He nods his head vigorously. "Anything," he murmurs._

 _"If we're doing this, we're going all out—kisses, cuddles, date nights, sex, et cetera. I'm not gonna hold back, unless, of course, you really want me to. Next, there will be nicknames, lot and lots of nicknames. Honestly, they're quite the turn-on. Also, I expect love letters and flowers. You're amazing at writing, I've read your work."_

 _Leonardo grabs my mask tails and tugs on them, pulling me closer. He chuckles, lips stretching from ear to ear. "Done, done, and done."_

 _I shake my head. "Oh, but I'm not done yet." I plant a kiss to his cheek. "I need you," I whisper in his ear, "to promise that you won't leave me."_

 _Leonardo furrows his brow, drawing back slightly. "Raph, why would you even say that? I would never leave you. Even when you told me to stay away, I still stuck by you, didn't I?"_

 _I tilted my head, staring deeply into his eyes. I wanted to know what he was thinking, and this just so happened to be the only way for me to see into his soul. "April cheated on me when I least expected it. I don't want to be hurt again, so I'm not taking any chances unless I'm absolutely positive that the outcome will be okay."_

 _"Of course the outcome will be okay. The thought of hurting you would never even cross my mind." Leonardo kisses the corners of my lips. "I'm in love with you, and I want us to be happy together. I want what we have to last forever."_

* * *

We slept with each other that night, in my queen bed. I was the big spoon and him the little, and I swear, I'd never held someone so tightly in my arms.

The next morning I awoke to a love letter and roses. I still have the former, I do believe, tucked away in a photo album. As for the latter, they made for elegant decor in the days leading up to their wilting.

I've been with Leonardo for almost six years by now, and I'm still finding little beauties in him each day. I take the time to know everything about him, all of his pet peeves and habits.

I know that when he doesn't like the taste of something he scrunches his snout and furrows his brow, then let's out a wheezy cough. I know that the first thing he does when he wakes up is goes over the days plan, filling every empty slot with a chore or activity. And each night before bed he reads two chapters of his book before turning off the light. When it's dark, he'll grab my hand and lean his head on my shoulder. Every night, before he falls asleep, he tells me all of the things he loves most about me, and then, sometimes, the things he wants for our future.

And he doesn't realize that I could watch him for the rest of my life and never get bored, because to me, he's the most intriguing being in the world. So when he tells me that he hates the smell of pine, I take it as my job to cut down all of the pine trees in our yard. When he can't find the words to finish the poem he swirling on, I read him the dictionary. When everything becomes too much to handle, I lift the weight off of his shoulders and bear it myself.

This is what love is, not kisses and sex and marriage. Love is helping your partner in any way you can, and not treating it as a chore. Love is knowing every minor detail about them, and still being intrigued, because you know that there's about a hundred other mysteries to uncover. Love is unexceptional, it's forever and always.

Leonardo is still in bed, tired from the past week. The morning sickness began to kick in two days ago, and next to that he's been having obvious mood swings. He's constantly tired, and it hurts, because I want to take away his pain—though it be minor—and make him feel okay again.

When I ask him how he's feeling, he answers honestly and tells me that sure, he's been better, but the few months worth of suffering is worth it.

I fix my husband a plate of bacon and eggs, and pour a tall glass of tangy orange juice for him. With a cup in one hand and a plate in the other, I hike up stairs to bring Leo his breakfast.

I find him laying on my side of the bed, his face buried in my pillow. When he hears me enter the room, he turns his head and opens a single eye. A grin appears on his face as he eyes the food. "What are you up to?"

"Just bringing my wonderful husband breakfast. Hopefully it isn't too much of an inconvenience." I sit down on the edge of the bed, waiting for Leonardo to sit up to give him his food. I set the orange juice on the bedside table.

"Scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. Doesn't get much better than this," Leonardo grins and reaches for my hand. I give it up willing. "Thank you, love, for everything you've done the past few days. I seriously appreciate it. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Not pregnant, that's for sure," I tease, squeezing his hand.

Leonardo's grin fades, but only into a smile. There's a gleam in his eye, it looks like wonder mixed with excitement. "I still cant believe we're gonna be parents."

I let go of his hand and lay down beside him. My head is against his thigh, and I watch him eat the found I've brought him. "What's up, babe?" He asks, staring back at me with a furrowed brow and a concerned set of eyes.

I shrug, my actions contradicting my response. "It's gonna be really hard being parents, ya know? I mean, we're both depressed and you have anxiety. I can barely handle my anger . . ," I trail off, glaring at the ceiling.

Leonardo picks up where I left off, but his words differ from mine in one of the few ways that matter. While my tone was filled with doubt, his is reassuring and upbeat. "That stuff doesn't matter. Next time I see Donnie I'll ask for my own bottle of antidepressants, but until then, I'll take yours. I already have anxiety meds, and your anger can be toned down by meditation or drawing or just straight up relaxing with me."

I crawl away from my current position, sliding instead between his spread legs. My arms fold over the bottom of his plastron, chin resting on the backs of my overlapped hands. I stare at him in amazement, admiring the way his eyes light up.

He hands me a slice of bacon, considering I'm practically drooling over the sight of the meat. "We're gonna be great parents," Leo continues after gulping down the last of his breakfast. "Like, yeah, it isn't going to be the easiest thing we've done—honestly, I'm pretty sure saving the earth from an alien invasion will be easier than raising kids—but never the less, we'll pull through. Know why?"

I shake my head, just for the sake of keeping him talking.

"Because we'll do it together." He grabs my hands and pulls me towards him. I roll over onto Leonardo's pillow, bringing him with me. His face it inches away from mine, our plastrons sliding against each other as we shift into a comfortable position. I hold him tightly against me.

"Leo and Raph against the world, just like the good ol' days," I whisper with a smirk.

"Good ol' days? It always has—and will be—us against the world. And ya know, I like it just fine this way." Leonardo closes the gap with a graceful kiss. Our lips dance, and I can't help but smile.

His hands have made their way to my face, while mine are on his neck and collarbone. He slips either of his thumbs beneath the thin fabric tied around my face, pulling out off completely. I do the same for him. Loosening the knot at the back of his head, I take the bandana and toss it elsewhere. It's whereabouts are meaningless to me; at the moment, the only thing that matters is the simple curve of his body.

He pulls away, slipping off of me to lay on his side. I stay laying on my shell, missing his body on top of mine.

Leo seems to notice this, as he moves to rest his head against my shoulder. "I love you, husband." His lips are soft against my skin, and when he plants a soft peck on my upper bicep, I allow for my eyes to flutter shut.

"I love you more, husband," I reply, grinning.

"Now, now, it isn't a competition." He kisses my skin again, and his fingers on his right hand lace with mine. His left hand is holding my elbow. "But if it were, I'd totally win."

He doesn't realize, though, how much I really love him, because like I said previously, I've never been one for words. 'I love you' is about as romantic as my phrases get. If I could, I would offer him a love letter written like no other. I'd make Shakespeare cower, and J.K. Rowling would suddenly be embarrassed of her work, as it would look so childish compared to mine.

I would give Leonardo the world, if only my hands were big enough to hold it.

* * *

Around noon, Michelangelo and Donatello come over for lunch. I invited the two of them over to see how they would act with each other—they've been so strange in each other's company lately, I can't help but wonder why. Leonardo said it was rude to invite them over as an experiment. Not that I cared, it's my brother and friend, if they become suspicious, I can easily say that my reasoning was that the four of us never hang out any more.

I set the finale addition to the meal in the middle of the table; a bowl of fruit salad. Donnie, always being one for fruit over any other food group, takes the salad tong and drops a few scoops onto his plate.

"So, have you guys picked out a name yet?" Mikey asks while cutting up a piece of chicken.

Leonardo grins, happy to once again be on the subject of our child. I roll my eyes, despite how excited I am on our behalf, as well. "We haven't decided yet, but we do know that we're going to name our kids after subjects that either Da Vinci or Raffaello painted or sculpted. We did some research last night, looking through some of Splinter's old books."

I place my hand over Leonardo's and glance at him out of the corner of my eyes. "We won't really know the name till we find out the gender, though," I add to Leo's response.

"When do you guys find that out?"

"I'll do an ultra sound in three weeks, that'll mark one month into the pregnancy," Donatello answers Mikey's question, wearing a deep frown that lines up perfectly with his grave tone. Leonardo and I exchange

a look of confusion at the odd occurrence. My brother is hardly ever in such a bad mood anymore, and furthermore, rarely aims it at one of us.

The Orange cladded turtle isn't a fool, he picks up on Donnie's mild behavior as well. It clearly puts him off, though, if it upsets him, he doesn't show it. "Only a month? Me and Karai had to wait four," Mikey says with a chuckle, attempting to lighten up the mood.

"Yeah, well, Leo and Raph didn't crossbreed," Donatello spits. He shoots a death glare at Mikey, who shrinks back into his chair.

I open my mouth to speak, but Leo throws his arm out in front of me. He's shaking his head slightly, a look of warming in his sapphire eyes. When he turns his attention back to the argument unrolling before us, I take note of the captivated expression cast upon his face.

"I'm sorry, is my being with Karai an inconvenience to you?" Michelangelo demands, standing up from his chair.

Leonardo is holding onto my hand now, squeezing tightly. I squeeze back, filling up with suspense myself.

Donatello pushes his chair out and takes a step towards Mikey. The former's lips are curled back in a snarl, baring a set of clenched teeth. "That'd be like Splinter asking Shredder if being with Tang Shen had been an inconvenience," my brother hisses.

"Wait, what?" Leonardo asks, raising his brow. His question goes unanswered; it seems as if Donnie and Mikey are blocking out anything that isn't each other's yelling.

Michelangelo's eyes widen, and his jaw drops. His posture reads defeat, but the blazing words that follow are the utter opposite.

"Why does my marriage even matter to you?!"

"Why does it matter to me?" Donnie repeats. His voice is small and shallow. That doesn't mean it doesn't hold emotions, though. The feelings and reactions are all stirred together, colors mixing like water. It's hard to keep up with the hurt and doubt and disappointment, but it's there, nonetheless. "Why do you think it matters to me, Mikey?"

The freckled terrapin blushes a deep maroon. "If you're referring to what happened all those years ago, Donnie, then you need to just get over it," he states calmly with a shrug.

"Get over it? How am I supposed to get over it—get over you—when it's the only thing I can think about it? I don't think I can get over it, I don't think I'll ever get over you." I gasp as Donnie reaches for Mikey's hands, wanting so desperately to hold them in his own.

The latter jerks them away, though, stumbling backwards. "No. No, you need to stop, Donatello. This isn't appropriate. I'm married, I have a daughter. So you need to get rid of your feelings an-"

"You know what, Mike, you don't fucking get it! I'm in love with you!" Donnie screams, tears welling in his eyes.

The entire kitchen goes silent. Mikey looks down at his feet, lips parted slightly. Leo is standing, still holding onto my hand. And I'm staring wide eyed at my baby brother, wondering what the hell in missing.

Don clarifies it for us, his eyes wandering over mine and my husband's shocked expressions. "That's right, I'm in love with Mikey." He sighs, pausing as he collects the explanation he's bound to give. "We dated for a year before we came up here, and then an additional three months at the farm house. I thought we were happy, I mean, I was happy. But he cheated on me with Karai, saying that I didn't pay enough attention to him.

"What you never realized, Mikey, was how much I had on my plate back then. There were so many repairs I had to make to the house—the roof was damaged, the water softener broken, pipes rusted. And on top of all that, I had to figure out that stupid worm Karai coughed up." Donnie turned his attention back to Mikey, who was staring at the speaker with owl eyes. "I wanted to shove everything aside to make time for you, but every time I so much as left my lab I felt guilty.

"I . . . I, um, finally figured out the deal with the worm, and I was going to make it up to you for all the time I spent shoving you away. I had it all planned out, a picnic by the lake, snuggling up to each other while watching a movie. And if you were up for it, we'd, well, ya know . . ," Donatello trails off, wiping away a strayed tear. "I went to talk to you, but you said it was over. I don't recall much of what you said afterwards, I was too focused on the words 'breaking up' and 'this isn't working' to pay attention to the rest.

"You walked off, going who knows where. And I left to my lab. I went on a rampage, kicking things over, tearing papers in half. Ever since you left me, I've asked myself, time and time again, why I wasn't worth it to you. Like, yeah, I'd get it if I was completely neglecting you, but I told you all the time how much I loved you and that I missed the times where we could hang out without me having something to do or somewhere to be. I suppose that missing something isn't the same as acting on something, though."

I feel stupid for never noticing Donnie and Mikey's relationship, because thinking back to that time frame, it was all there. The times where they would lock themselves in Donnie's lab, or beg to be teamed with each other on patrol. The flowers in Mikey's bedroom, the blushes on their cheeks when someone would walk into a room they were already occupying. I think about it all, and realize not just how obvious there relationship had been, but also, how much they truly loved each other. You could see it in their eyes then, and you can see it in Donatello's now.

My brother exhales a sob, letting out a wave of tears. "I'm sorry, Mikey. I'm sorry I let you go when I should've held you closer. I miss you so damn much, though. I miss your late night cuddles and waking up to yours adorable face on the pillow beside mine. I miss your smiles and kisses and hugs. Your 'I love you's and your desperation to be carried on my back.

"I am never going to get over you. These feelings? I can shove them aside all I want, but it won't change that fact that I'm still in love with you," Donnie finishes his speech, and stares at Mikey expectantly. When he doesn't say anything in return, my brother nods, accepting the lack of response. "I should be getting home now."

No one stops him from leaving.

He places a hand on my shoulder on the way out, mumbling a quick thank you for lunch.

The front door shuts behind Donnie, and only then does Mikey move. He slips back into his chair. "I had no idea, I had no idea, I had no idea," he mutters to himself over and over again.

"Mikey, are you okay?" Leonardo asks, concern written across his face.

Michelangelo sits up straighter, leaning on the table as he meets my husband's gaze. "I didn't even know he still felt that way towards me. I thought he was over me."

"But . . . are you okay?"

He grins, nodding his head vigorously. "Yeah, I'm great."

* * *

By the moon I sit to see your glory, the white rose I see creates a new story. Seasons are many, their reasons few what remains is that I'll always love you.

— Mckayla Schrah


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello everyone! Sorry for the lack of author notes lately, sometimes it's just easier to skip to the chase. We're over half way to one-hundred reviews, and, as usual, viewer number 100 will get spoilers, so let's strive towards that goal!**

 **On another note, this chapter's writing isn't the best quality, I will admit. I wasn't trying very hard on it, to be completely honest. This is mainly just a bridge chapter, hence the reason I wanted to get it over with already.**

 **One last thing: I am going to be releasing chapter one of a short companion story within the next few days, so stay tuned for that. It will be titled "Together Again" and will be told from POV's we don't hear from very often in this story. Chapter One will take place immediately after this chapter. So please, check it out!**

 **With all of that said, enjoy and review!**

"Have you talked to Donnie at all?"

I lift my head to meet Leonardo's gaze as he sits beside me on the couch, a mug of tea in tow.

"No," I reply, closing Renaissance book I'd been looking through. "Why would I?"

Leo shrugs, staring down at the boiling beverage in his hands. "Just to make sure he's okay. After what he said earlier today . . . well, I'm just worried for him. Any anyhow, he is your brother. You should be looking out for each other."

"I guess," I mumble as I pull out my phone. I open up to Donnie's contact, but my finger lingers just above the call button. Staring at the contact picture, I'm face to face with his wife, gap toothed grin, and suddenly, I can't will myself to dial. "Can you call him?" I ask Leonardo, brow raised in a look of expectance.

Smirking at me, my husband rolls his eyes. "Sure thing, sweetie." He takes my phone right out of my hands, without a moment of hesitation. "Speaker?" I nod.

I wrap my arms around Leonardo when his thumb meets the call button, pulling him onto my lap. He hands me his tea and I take a sip of it before setting in on a coaster on the coffee table.

"Hey Raph. What's up?" Donatello's voice is filled with exhaustion, and a soft sniffle makes me question whether or not he'd been crying.

Leonardo grabs my hand and leans back as far as he can. I kiss his forehead, watching his face crinkle as he furrows his brow and twists his lip. Judging by his expression, I'd say he shared my theory that Donnie was crying.

I wonder if Leo cried every time I turned him down. Did he convince himself that there was something wrong with him? Did he sob into a pillow while racking is brain, trying to find a reason as to why I wouldn't take him?

Bending my neck, I kiss the crown of Leo's head.

"It's Leo, actually. My phone died and I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh? Is it about a charger? I could bring a new one over. Just give me twenty min-"

Leonardo cuts him off entirely, shaking his head even if I'm the only one who can see. "That's not what I wanted to talk about." His tone shifts abruptly, growing to be sympathetic and motherly rather than stern. You can always count on Leo to change demeanors when you least expect it. "How are ya, Don? You had me a little worried earlier. You doing okay?"

Listen to Leo's delicate and caring words, I can't help but smile at his stomach. I run my fingers over his belly, thinking about our child and how beautiful he or she is going to be. And Leo, he's gonna be a great parent, no doubt about it.

My husband shoots me and warning glance and bobs his head in the direction of the phone. I mouth an apology and move my hands back to where they had been.

"If I'm being honest Leo, I'd have told anyone else that I'm fine had they asked, but I can't lie to you." I let out a growl, because hearing your brother confess that he would've lied to you isn't exactly something you wanna hear when you're as tired as I am. Leonardo elbows me, causing me to grunt out of discomfort.

"I'm just really lost at the moment. Actually, I think I have been ever since Mikey left me. But, now that I've told him that I love him, and he still isn't coming back to me, I'm more down than ever. It's like, I can't even describe what I'm feeling, because it isn't really pain, it's like I'm . . . like I'm empty." Donatello pauses. His heavy breathing stops for a moment, up until he heaved a long, dramatic sigh. "Is that normal, Leo?"

Donnie has always gone to Leo with his problems, so, for him to ask a question like this, isn't very surprising. In fact, all of us go to him when there's something wrong, or even when there's not, and we just want to talk to someone.

You could say that this is because of Leo's keen social skills and wise advice, but speaking as someone who had lived with him all my life, I can reassure you, it goes much deeper than that.

When we were young—as weird as this may sound—Leonardo was like our parent figure. Splinter was hardly ever in the lair, always out scavenging for food and utilities that could aid in our survival. He was a great father, yes, but his parenting skills just about ended after we were fed and bathed and put to sleep. He hadn't taken the time to teach us much more than how to speak and write and do basic math problems. After we reached the age of four, the only thing that mattered to him was ninjutsu.

In our spare time, though, Leo filled in the gaps. He's always been a fast learner, grasping onto things quicker than the rest of us. He taught himself to read, then the rest of us. Taught himself multiplication and division, then the rest of us. Leonardo was the one who fed Donnie's interest in science, and interested Mikey in entertainment. He would read to our baby brother before bed, and tell him stories over breakfast. When we got a tv, the two of them would huddle under a blanket to watch Saturday morning cartoons.

As for me, well, I spent extra time sparing with Leo. I would taunt him and he'd shoot insults right back at me.

Leonardo has always been the rock that we lean on, ever since the day we were mutated. So who does he lean on?

For a while, it was Splinter. But he's gone now, safe in the heavens, far away from this unforgivable world. Now a days, Leo falls back on faith.

Faith.

What an odd force to rest your head upon. It works for him—meditation, praying, hoping for another good day—and if it works, then that's all that matters.

"Of course it's normal. Not very good, but normal, nevertheless." Leo gnaws on his bottom lip, a mischievous gleam in his sapphire eyes. "How are you gonna get him back, Don?"

"What? Who? Mikey?" Donatello let's out a nervous chuckle. "I decided that I'm not even going to bother. He's happy with Karai, and hey, I've gotten along just fine on my own thus far. I don't see point in trying to make us work again when there's the chance that things could end up going to hell all over again."

Leo exhales an exasperated sigh. "Donnie, I need you to stop thinking for a second, and just listen to me; can you do that?"

"Sure, Leo."

"Okay, good. Now, you're obviously giving up on your chance at a relationship with Mikey because you're looking at the statistics. I'm here to tell you that all of those numbers that are running through your head are utter bullshit. They don't matter! The only standing between you and Mikey is-"

"Karai," Donnie spits out, his a hysterical tone haunting his voice. "Do you know what she would do to me if she found out that I was having an affair with her husband? Never mind me, though, she'd skin Mikey alive! I can't let her hurt him. It's-it's just too risky."

Leonardo throws his hands in the air, leaping off of my lap. I drape my arm over the edge of the couch, smirking at my now pacing husband.

Go get 'em, tiger.

"But that's what love is all about! Taking risks! So what if Karai finds out? She can't really do anything to you. Personally, I think you should just go for him. If you really love him, Don, then make him yours."

"What-what if he turns me down?" Donnie stutters; a tell that he's nervous. I imagine him pacing about, rubbing his neck and twisting his lips, crinkling his forehead in uncertainty.

If I could, I'd remind Donnie of all of the things we've had to fight for—both literally and metaphorically—in order to get to where we wanted to be. I can't, though, so I let Leo do the talking. He's always been the people person, anyhow.

"Do you know how many times I had to ask your brother to go out with me before I finally got a solid yes? It took forever. But it was worth it, obviously, considering we're now married with a baby on the way. It may be a shot in the dark, but I can assure you, everything will wind up exactly as it should be in the end. And I whole heartedly believe that you and Michelangelo are meant to be."

Leonardo, now calm, slips back onto my lap. I plant a kiss on his neck, then another on his cheek, and a finale just above his mask. He grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers before kissing my knuckle.

"I guess you could be right . . ," Donatello's words disperse into the air, sounding more like a whisper the further he travels into the statement. Somethings clearly bothering him, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. "Mind if I let you go now? So I can call Mikey up?"

Leonardo's beaming, a grin spreading across his face. "Go ahead. And Donnie? Good luck."

* * *

I crawl into bed, turning off the lamp on my bedside table before sliding beneath the sheets. Leonardo is waiting for me, his head resting on the very edge of his pillow. I lay down, my face inches away from his.

My hand reaches up to rest upon his cheek. "Hey there, beautiful," I murmur in greeting.

"Hello, handsome." Leo leans forward to kiss my snout.

"How's our baby doing?" I ask, placing my hand over his belly."

"Good, I hope," he replied with a chuckle. "Call me crazy, but sometimes I think I can feel him or her growing inside of me."

I shrug, brushing off his weirded out tone. "I'm sure that's normal. Plus, your pregnancy is moving a lot faster than other people's. Four months is nothing compared to nine."

"And yet, it's everything," Leonardo whispers.

He takes my hands in his, bringing them to his lips. "I love you, Raphie."

Smirking, I wink at him, blinded by his dark blue eyes. "Love you, too, sunshine."

* * *

Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame. Where there is a flame someone's bound to get burned. But just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die. You've gotta get up and try, and try, and try.

— P!nk (Try)


	18. Chapter 18

75 . . . 76 . . . 77 . . .

The punching bag bounces back and forth, thumping against my swinging fists

78 . . . 79 . . . 80 . . .

I breathe heavily, sweat beading down my forehead and neck. I'll stop at one hundred, just as I do every morning.

81 . . . 82 . . . 83 . . .

Leonardo appears out of the corner of my eye, treading down the stairs with burdensome footsteps. He's holding a mug of coffee, which he takes careful sips from. "Morning, love," his voice is flat, exhaustion clearly weighing him down.

84 . . . 85 . . . 86 . . .

"Hey, sunshine," I grunt, teeth clenched as I roundhouse kick the punching bag. "How'd ya sleep?"

87 . . . 88 . . . 89 . . .

"Alright, I guess." Leonardo leans back against the wall to the right of me as he watches my movements. A smirk plays on his luscious lips. I'd like to wipe it off with a passionate kiss. "Call me crazy, but I think I can feel the baby kicking. It kept me awake all night."

90 . . . 91 . . . 92 . . .

"Donnie told me you'd say that."

93 . . . 94 . . . 95 . . .

"Also told me," I continue, throwing harder, faster punches at the dummy, "to let you know that it's too early in the pregnancy to feel actual kicks. What your experiencing is the baby growing and moving about."

96 . . . 97 . . . 98 . . .

"Way to rain on my parade," Leonardo murmurs, rolling his eyes.

The bag comes back my way, but I stop it with an outstretched hand.

Tilting my head, I study my husband's form intently.

He's slouched as he leans against the wall, caressing a cup of steaming coffee. A frown has been carved into his alluring face. His sublime confidence has been extracted, no longer there to light the room up with pride and grit. Judging by the way he stands, I have every right to suspect that he's trying to fold himself up, in an attempt to become invisible.

Which, I might add, is deeply unfortunate, seeing how he's the only thing in the world I have ever truly noticed.

Between his ethereal beauty and dauntless personality, everything about him screams to be seen and inhaled. I take in every inch of my love, basking in his glory like one would the moonlight.

I can't always describe my feelings for him—they're intangible and supernal, he's nothing of this world. He leaves me with weak knees, causing me to collapse before him. And his gentle hands hold mine carefully as he lifts me off of the ground, because he knows that I'm incapable of getting up on my own.

He's pure eye candy, my Leonardo is. Even when he's looking broken and vulnerable.

"I wasn't trying to rain on your parade. I was just telling you the facts," I explain calmly.

Leonardo rolls his head, cracking his neck in the process. "I'm sorry, honey, I know you weren't. It's these stupid mood swings, it's like I can't control what I'm feeling and saying."

He squeezes his eyes shut and pouts, sticking out his bottom lip.

I take a step forward, a single stride that brings me to my husband. Delicately, I lifted his chin upward, and met his eyes.

"Don't worry about it, my love, we'll get through this pregnancy together. It'll be rough, we'll probably be at each other's throats, or threaten a divorce, but we'll be okay," I reassure, caressing Leonardo's cheek.

He places his hand over mine, the remaining one clasping around my wrist. A pool of fear embeds itself in his sapphire eyes, becoming one with his intense stare. "We're gonna threaten a divorce?" His grip on my arm tightens.

"Well, I mean, I don't know. That's what always happens in the movies," I reply, a sheepish look on my face.

Leonardo rolls his eyes in a relieved manner. "We're not in a movie though. This is reality, and in this world, we will love each other all throughout my pregnancy, and then again after. There will be no fights or divorces if I have anything to say about it."

"I do hear that the choosing of names causes a lot of arguments." I take the coffee mug from Leonardo's hand and sip from it. I was expecting something tart, but am met with the utter opposite. Leo poured so much sweetener into this single cup, that I begin to worry about whether or not we'll have any sugar left in the sack. Whatever makes him happy, I do suppose.

"Speaking of which, we should get on to that." Leonardo stalks past me, but stops when he reaches the first stair. He beckons me with a swift wave of his hand.

I follow.

* * *

"Girls names first, then boys," Leo instructs, drawing a pink line beneath the word 'girl' on a chalkboard

I glance down at the list I'd made in a notebook, rereading each name twice before looking back up at my husband. I nod in understanding.

"Alright. Hit me with it."

Clearing my throat, I read off the two female names I have written down. "La Belle and Madonna."

Leonardo smiles, and immediately turns around to write them on the board. I watch him intently, taking note of the way his muscles flex as he moves. He's like water, shifting from one position to another in a most fluent manner. And for some odd reason, this grasps my attention to an extent where I cannot bear to take my eyes off of him.

"I prefer my names, although, yours are nice too, I suppose," Leonardo states mischievously as he sidesteps, giving me a clear view of the chalkboard.

His additions are: Elizabetta Gonzaga and Lisa del Giocondo.

The smirk on his face is an apparent sign of gratification. He sees the choosing of names as a competition; man with the best set of names wins.

Unfortunately for him, I have my heart set on La Belle.

"Alright, let's cross out Madonna and Lisa del Giocondo," I suggest, nodding along with my own words.

"But I liked that one," Leo argues with a pout.

Rolling my eyes, I stand up from my spot at the counter, walking over to where he has the board hanging on the wall. "It's literally a stretched out version of Mona Lisa, which is the most basic painted subject in the history of art." Eyes locked with my husband, I take the chalk from his hands, and scribble out two names. "Now, onto boys."

A loud, disgruntled huff comes sweeping out of my husband's nostrils, filling the room with noise. He hates not getting his way, and furthermore, I hate seeing him upset.

Wrapping my arms around him from behind, I rest my chin on his shoulder. "C'mon, babe, we can use that name for another kid."

Leo chuckles, moving his head to look at me. My eyes are closed, but nevertheless, his state burbs through me. "How many more kids are we having?"

A low purr rumbles in my throat as I consider the question, trying to think of an answer involving a precise number. When nothing comes to me, though, I mutter, "I don't know, but I want a lot."

Leo brings a hand up to caress on my cheek. "Three's the limit. Unless, of course, you'd like to take a turn at carrying them for four months?"

I snort at my mate's words, finding them to be an odd sort of amusing. I've heard that it's painful, being a mother. The pregnancy is told to be stressful, a period of time where you can't find a single drop of comfort, not matter what you do. As for the delivering of the baby, it's one of the most agonizing chore ever experienced. So terrible, that at times, it leads to death; whether it be of the mother of child.

I would never be able to go through something like that. For Leonardo to do it so willingly is not only brave, but also utterly selfless.

"I think I'll pass on that," I murmur, leaning into my husband's gentle palm. "What do we got for boys names?"

Letting go of my lover, I walk around him, standing in front of the list. I jot down Saint Sebastian and Julius, and then the two Leo submits, Saint Peter and Francesco Sforza.

We both take a step back, our hands tied together by laced fingers. Leonardo's gaze is set on the list, but my glowing green eyes are focused on something much more important; him.

He's one of the most adorable states right now, when his eyes are narrowed in concentration, and his lips are puckered as he bites the inside of his cheek. His image is a silhouette against the rising sun outside the kitchen window, and yet still, his beauty is the brightest thing in the room.

"Uh oh," Leo murmurs when he glances up at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah? What's up?" Concern takes over, causing me to glance around the room. But . . . nothing's out place.

Except for his previous expression. It's gone now, disappeared without a trace. Where it once stood is now an amused grin and eager doe eyes. "You have that look again!" Leo exclaims giddily.

"What look?" I demand in confusion.

"That-that look of love, that look of prosperity." He gets up on his tiptoes, laying one hand on my shoulder, while the other points at my right eye. "It's right there, in the iris, living like a wild flower in a field of grass."

Leonardo gives me an Eskimo kiss, rubbing the tip of his snout against mine.

I place a hand on the backs of his thighs, hoisting him upward. I sit him down on the counter, kneeling in front of him with my head on his lap.

Smiling softly, I fixate my attention on his belly. I wonder what's in there, a little girl or boy? What color eyes will my child have, sapphire or emerald? I pray for the former, so I can I be in love two sets of extraordinary eyes.

"What keeps grasping your attention, my love?" Leonardo asks, striking the top of my head.

I tilt my head upward, to meet his stare. "You, honey, you."

He scrunches his snout, a grin spreading from ear to ear. The scary part, is the fact that he doesn't realize how truly adorable he looks when performing this simple action.

And when he pulls me upward, only to connect my lips to his, he doesn't have a single clue how it makes me fall just little bit further for him.

He doesn't know that I could be in a room filled with a million other distractions, but still only be able to watch him. Me eyes are glued to him, always. They follow him around, leaving to trail behind my husband like a ghost.

He does not know, that every time he asks what grasps my attention, my answer will always be the same; you.

* * *

Without her, he wasn't really alive

— Nicola Yoon (Everything, Everything)


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello, everyone! It's been awhile since I last typed up one of these author notes, sorry about that. I'd like to thank all of you who have been reviewing lately. I seriously appreciate the feedback, and would encourage more of it. I understand that these past few chapters have been boring, but they are merely bridges. Things are about to get real good, real quick, so just sit tight, guys.**

 **On another note, I would like to dedicate this fluffy chapter to .leader. You're a great friend, sweetie, and I can't wait to hear from you when you get back online. I thought of you and your brilliant writing all throughout this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.**

 **With that said, enjoy and review!**

* * *

I often wonder what my father would say if he were here. If he knew that I'm married to my older brother, would be disgusted? If he knew I'd gotten Leo pregnant, would he no longer call us his sons? Would he approve of my new lifestyle, if he were still around?

Leonardo tells me not to worry, he says that Splinter knew that he was in love with me. Yet another reason why the old rat threw a tantrum when Leo confessed to sleeping with Karai, because he knew that the blue cladded turtle was falling for someone else. It makes me wonder what else my father knew upon his tragic death.

Would he like the names Leonardo and I had chosen—Elizabetta Gonzaga or La Belle for a girl, Saint Sebastian for a boy—or would he have come up with something better?

I can talk to my father's grave all I want, but he will never be able to hear me. His spirit is at rest, he died, as morbid as this sounds, happily. He had a big family, a long life of accomplishments, and a wife he'd been dreaming of seeing once more.

I'd like to think that's where he is, back in Japan with the love of his life. I imagine that they're happy together, in a world parallel to my own.

With these thoughts, you'd think I'd stop going to visit his memorial spot every Saturday morning, but no. It's a habit, I do suppose. The kind that you find comfort in, the kind you're proud of having.

I went this morning, vented to the tombstone, caught a few squirrels on the way home. I told myself that today would be a successful day of getting work done; chores around the house, yard work, skinning prey and cleaning their meat. I'd cook a nice, big dinner for me and my husband, and enjoy the rest of the night drowning in his presence.

As I step through the door, these thoughts are put to rest.

My eyes fall upon Leonardo, who's laying on the couch, staring straight ahead at a blank tv screen. I furrow my brow, taking in the sight of his solemn state. Most mornings I'll come home and he'll be fixing up breakfast. Other days he'll still be sleeping in the bedroom, to which I would gently wake him, dragging him into a steamy shower with me. For him to be downstairs, slumped lazily on the sofa, is quite peculiar.

Nevertheless, I drop my bag of game on the bench beside the front door, hang up my hunting jacket, and slide off my boots before heading towards my husband.

"Morning, sunshine." I crouch down to his level, grabbing his left hand. I bring to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his soft flesh.

Leo gives me a small, smile, although, I can tell that his heart isn't all in it. He makes it look painful, the simple action of twitching your lips upward. His eyes are moist, cheeks stained with tears. "Good morning, love," he whispers, his voice sounding frail.

"Doesn't seem like it's been a very good morning for you," I mutter, eyes shifting from feature to another. My gaze can't seem to fixate on one place, it wants to take in every inch of him; everything between his drooping lips and glistening eyes and creased forehead. "What's wrong, Leo?"

He shrugs. "Nothing, actually." I was about to argue, when he added, "Just another one of those days, I guess."

One of those days. The ones when you feel helpless to control your own emotions, the ones when you can't process anything other than sadness. The ones when the depression strikes hard, leaving to grieve a mixture of everything and nothing.

I get those a lot.

And if I've learned anything over the past seven years, it's that these days have no cure. No amount of antidepressants can wash them away.

There are ways to take your mind off of the sorrow, and those are precious moment spent doing something you love with someone you love.

"I have an idea," I murmur, a mischievous grin making its way onto my lips. "Stay here, I have to go grab something."

He nods in understanding and ushers me away.

* * *

Leonardo barely moved a muscle while I was upstairs, leaving for me to come back down to find him in the exact same position. I fought off the urge to roll my eyes at the sight.

"I was going to save this as an anniversary gift, but I'm pretty sure you're in need of it now rather than later," I announce, still hiding the present behind my back.

Leo sits up slowly, peering at me with wide, curious eyes. "Whatcha got?" He asks, suddenly pulled out of his saddened state.

Taking in a sharp breath, I bring a large box into view.

"No. Freaking. Way," he murmurs, stunned by the gift.

I offer it to him, the box painted with a portrait of Captain Ryan and Crankshaw on one side, and the Dauntless on the other. My husband marvels at it, flipping it in his hands, eyes soaking in every minor detail.

"It's the complete Space Heroes series . . ," he murmurs in astonishment.

I nod, grinning at the look on his face. Sliding down to sit beside him on the couch, I say, "Along with over twenty lost episodes, deleted scenes, and interviews with the cast and crew." Leaning in, I perch my lips just before his open ear, whispering in a low, enchanting voice, "And it's all yours."

I press a kiss to his cheek, letting my lips linger against his flesh for a few moments before pulling back. I savor the feeling of my mouth brushing his skin, and his natural, almond-like musk makes the contact a million times more enjoyable.

"How did you get this?" Leo demands in a whisper. His hand cups my cheek, pulling me down to rest my head on his shoulder.

"Karai saw it back when she was buying Ellie birthday gifts. She hit me up with a text, told me it was on sale, and offered to buy it. I obviously wasn't about to turn down such an amazing gift for such an amazing husband." I stress the word "amazing" the second time around, stretching it out an emphasis.

I want Leonardo to know how much I care about him and his health, so that he doesn't fall to far into a void of depression. Perhaps, if I remind him enough of how much I love him, then he will start to feel better about himself.

Leonardo closes his eyes and hugs the boxed set to his chest. Something about how his lips rest in a flat line tells me that he's tying to fight off a frown, but not quite making it to a smile.

I move to a more comfortable position before lifting him onto my lap. My hands stroke his thighs soothingly, earning me a purr from my lover. He's in a daze, with his chin resting on my shoulder, body slumped against mind carelessly. I bow my head slightly and nudge his neck with my snout.

"I wanna kiss you," I state boldly, cutting straight to the point.

Leonardo pulls back to stare me in the eye. His gaze is filled with amusement, although, there are speckles of a fiery attitude written between the lines. I pick up on it, smirking at his sudden spark of personality.

There's my Leonardo.

"Then why don't you be a man and do it already," he dares. His voice is a mixture of sexy and adorable, creating a color I can't help but crave to see more of.

I chuckle, shaking my head from side to side in a sort of 'what am I gonna do with you' manner.

Placing a delicate finger below his chin, I raise it up. His eyes kids flutter closed, and I feel his body relax as our lips meet.

It's a quiet kiss that we share, not at all fast and desperate. I'm not hungry for more, not trying to deepen the action in a way that could ruin it. This kiss is beyond pleasurable; a dreamy and tasteful moment that I want to live through forever.

His thumbs slip beneath my mask, rubbing circles in my skin gently.

I move my hands, leaving one to cup his cheek, and the other to rest on the back of his neck.

I don't dare deepen the kiss, in fear that things will grow to be too intense, and carry into something hot and steamy. Sure, I appreciate the sexier scenes in our relationship, but as of right now, I want to merely enjoy the feeling of holding my husband in my arms.

Breaking the kiss, I rest my forehead on his, giving myself a chance to stare into his blissful eyes. They're open wide for me, looking more stunning than ever. His perfect eyes are the only thing I can see, and furthermore, the only thing I could ever possibly want to see.

"Do you wanna watch Space Heroes, Captian?" I joke.

It brings a wide, tooth-flashing grin to Leonardo's face, making my words all the more worthwhile.

"Is that even a question? Put it in!"

I playfully roll my eyes at his enthusiasm. Taking the box, I stand up after he's back to sitting on his own cushion.

"You know, I wouldn't have admitted this way back when," I start, sitting on the rough carpet in front of the DVD player. "But I secretly loved this show."

Blushing deeply at my own confession, I can't will myself to turn around and witness his reaction. I can hear it, though, his sudden bounce, followed by a delighted squeal. "No!" He shouts in disbelief.

Peering at him over my shoulder, I nod. "Any time it was on, I'd grab a comic book and pretend to read. I couldn't stand the thought of you knowing how much I loved it, hence the reason I made so many rude remarks about the franchise."

With the tv now broadcasting the main menu, I grab the remotes and head over to sit with Leo. He gets off of the couch, giving me room to lay down.

My husband lays on top of me, his head resting on my chest. "I can't believe you never said anything," he mumbles, lacing his fingers with mine. "How into it were you?"

Squeezing his hands, I ponder for a moment.

I'd been pretty obsessed with the show, to say the least. I used to lock myself in my bedroom so I could watch interviews and taped ComicCons without the others knowing. I had to have been pretty engrossed in the fandom to have sat in my room like that for the sake of watching those videos, because each time I went back to hang out with the rest of my family, I was accused of watching porn. If only they'd known the truth.

"I used to read fanfiction," I reply simply. Because lord knows, if you read fanfiction for something, you're pretty goddamn obsessed with it.

"Really?" Leonardo lifts his head to look me in the eye. "What did you read?"

I grunt, a sound formed as a result of the inquiry of a hard question, and my husband sitting up to straddle me. He makes himself comfortable, and when he is, he runs his hands over my body.

They start at my hands and move up my arms—his fingers are gentle grazing my skin, a delicate touch that makes me shiver. He massages my shoulders and leans down toward. I expected from him to kiss my collarbone when his mouth lingered there, but instead, I'm met with his teeth gentle nibbling my tender skin.

I exhale a moan, completely giving in to the pleasure he's offering. If there's one thing he's learned over the past five years, it's how to turn me on.

"Don't get too excited, tiger," Leonardo hums. He sits up straighter, now looming over me with his tall posture and prideful stare.

I grab his hands in mine and give a tight squeeze. "Need not worry, my Prince," I practically shout, my voice loud and bold, "for sex is the last thing on my mind on this Space Heroes marathon day."

As if by instinct, Leonardo places a hand over his stomach. It's rather adorable, the way his eyes light up when he remembers the child he's pregnant with. At night, when he can't sleep, he talks to the baby while rubbing his tummy. He thinks I sleep through it, but little does he know, that I fight off the urge to sleep each and every night, just so I can listen in. Because it's the best way to end the day, hearing your beloved husband whisper to your unborn baby. On days when I feel I have nothing, I live for those moments in the late night.

"Good," Leonardo snaps in a teasing manner. "Now, tell me about this fanfiction that you read."

I furrow my brow and purse my lips, trying to remember the details of the stories I'd read. Which was hard, given the six years that had passed since I'd last entertained myself with such activities. There was one—well, three, actually—that I could remember very faintly if I willed myself to.

It was a trilogy, and they were, by far, my favorite to read. I got so excited every time it was updated, and made sure to leave a review after I finished the newest chapters. When I was in the earlier stages of my depression, it helped me get by. But the author had left a note saying they were almost done, that there would only be another 10 chapters, and that would be it.

I'd been so pumped, and it was almost quite hard to hide my enthusiasm, and that's saying a lot, given the many other emotions I've hidden.

Right when things were getting good, right when we were almost to the end, the author stopped publishing. It was very odd—considering how friendly and sociable the admin had been—when his frequent updates came to an abrupt end. No note explaining his absence, no closure. He posted a cliff hanger, told us that he couldn't wait for us to read the next chapter, and that was it. Gone.

"I can't remember what any of them were called, and honestly, there's only one that I actually remember the plot of," I admit with a shrug.

"Try me."

I smirk at Leonardo's persistence. "Well, basically, it too place after the series finale, when the crew had been retiring back to earth. Everyone was parting ways, Captain Ryan saying goodbye to each crew member. When he got to Crankshaw, he hesitated, because apparently he'd always been in love with him, but didn't know how to say it. Ryan proceeded with a formal farewell, but right when he was ready to turn his back and stalk away, Crankshaw grabbed the front of his shirt, and yanked him down into a deep, passionate kiss.

"They wind up together, living casually in NYC, got married and were contemplating adopting kids. There was a lot more than just that, lots of drama, but that's the basic summary. It just ended randomly, though, so I'll never know how it ends," I explain casually, as if my body weren't squirming to find out what was planned to happen next in the abandoned fanfiction.

Leonardo's sapphire eyes are wide open, looking like an owl's. They twinkle in a way that resembles the stars in the sky, and his crescent grin is so clearly the moon.

Picking up on his enthusiasm, I ask, "What? Have you read it?"

"Read it?!" Leonardo scoffs. "Babe, I fucking wrote it!"

"No," the simple word sounds like a mere gasp against the shock I'm attempting to handle.

Leonardo pulls my hands up to his mouth so he can bury his grin in my palms. "Yes, I did."

Sitting up, I push him off of my plastron and onto my lap. This is a lot to take in, knowing that my husband, the man I'm in love with, is the author to my favorite fanfiction. My first question though, "Why the hell did you stop updating?"

Leonardo sighs and glances away. I can tell by the look on his face that he was expecting his question, and furthermore, I can tell that he doesn't want to answer.

I can imagine why, too. He worked on these stories for two and a half years, only to give up just upon reaching the end. For Leonardo, his is utterly disastrous. He never gives up, never stops trying until he succeeds. And, if my assumptions re correct, my knowing that he threw everything out the window is only making things harder for him.

"I was really stressed. Basically about my role as leader, helping you through your depression all while trying to hide mine, and falling in love with you. Everything as happening so quickly, and I was realizing that life was short, so I should spend every second of it with the ones I love. So I shut down my laptop, logged out of my account, and did everything I could with you," Leonardo confesses.

His eyes aren't on mine like I'd prefer them to be, and I can only gaze into the top part of his beautiful sapphire eyes as he stares down at our hands.

"You gave up all of that, for me?" I feel self centered for saying this, but I can't help it. I draw what I want from his words, and this is what I drew.

Leo's eyes flicker upward, meeting mine for the first time in forever. I don't mean to be cliche as I say that this shared eye contact seems to stop time completely, but it does. In those simple yet complex orbs are emotions I'd never seen accompanying each other.

Pain mingling with clarity.

Sorrow holding hands with relief.

Depression kissing sanity.

And above all; love. It shines the brightest, painted with a color that dominates all others. It takes me into its caring arms, rocking me slightly, and whispers sweet nothings.

"Yes, Raphael, and I will give up everything if it ensures your happiness," Leonardo replies with a sharp nod.

Smiling, I wrap my arms around my lover and pull him closer. "I'm in love you with you," I murmur against the skin of his neck. "And I'm falling further with every passing day."

We spent the day cuddled on that couch, watching Space Heroes. I fixed up an oven baked pizza for dinner, and we ate over a conversation about our future—children, grandchildren, bucket lists.

Throughout the entire day, I never let go of his hand, and I never dropped his eyes for more than a few seconds, and I never breathed in a smell that wasn't his own. Because he's right, life is short, and I need to learn to live in the moment.

The here, the now.

The love of my life, the Leonardo da Vinci Hamato.

* * *

When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

— Leonardo da Vinci


	20. Chapter 20

Coffee, sunrises, kisses, and held hands. Blue eyes reflecting the world around us, and blooming flowers in the garden. Pregnancy, marriage, wedding bands on our fingers. Cabin in the woods, waking up to his face every morning. Giddy smiles, thunderous laughs, and an undying love.

Life was perfect.

Almost too perfect.

There are days I spend reflecting upon how calm everything is up here, compared to back in the city. In Manhattan, there was trouble around every corner, but in North Hampton, there's nothing but clarity.

I almost hate it.

Almost.

I miss the thrill of a fight, and the somewhat comforting sound of subways roaring over head. I long to stop yet another from committed by the Purple Dragons, to battle the Foot once more.

There are times when I regret leaving the city, but most often, I'm thankful for the life I'm leading now.

I have a husband, who I'm deeply in love with. He's been pregnant for over a month, and tomorrow morning we'll find out the gender.

I'm going to have a family—a couple of kids birthed by the most astounding man in the world—and we'll be beyond happy together.

This is my second chance at life, I'm now realizing. When I was younger, I attempted suicide on multiple accounts. I cursed myself and wished for a sweet release. Now, though, I'm standing tall and proud. I'm glad that I didn't die, that I lived long enough to marry, and hopefully, to witness the birth of my child.

"Aren't they gorgeous?" Leonardo asks, gazing down at the flowers in front of our house. His eyes are relaxed, laid back with a sense of awe. They glide across the garden, taking in the sight of each and every vibrant petal.

I want to experience the sight with him, but I can't will myself to take my eyes off of him. He's so charming, with that warm smile and thoughtful look on his face.

Squeezing his hand I murmur in a husky voice, "Handsome is more like it."

Leonardo scrunches his face in bemusement. "They're flowers," he reminds with a chuckle.

Smirking, I bend down, perching my lips just before his ear. "I have my eye on something else." I kiss his cheek, my lips gentle against his soft skin.

"You keep getting distracted." My husband states, a flirt in his tone. He pulls me with him as he scaled the stairs, heading into our home.

"No, I'm not," I counter, my tone only slightly firm. "I have my attention right where I want to be."

"Oh really?" Leonardo turns around to face me the second we're in the house, eyes narrowed slightly in a challenge. "You could be looking at anything in the world, and you choose me?"

I snort, rolling my eyes at his question. My arms wrap around his middle, bringing him closer to me. "Is that even a question?" I scoff. Gripping Leo's chin, I lift his head to meet his eyes.

He stands on his tiptoes, trying to reach his lips to mine. I pull away every time he comes close enough to stealing a kiss.

"You are the only thing in this god forsaken world that's actually worth something. You're the one who kept me from killing myself, and you're the one who's loved me through it all." Bringing my hands upwards, I cup his face, grinning like the fool that I am. "I'm in love you and your luscious body, as well as your grand personality."

"You're such a flirt," Leonardo teases, jabbing my shoulder playfully.

"I can do more than flirt," I mutter, a low, animal like growl rumbling in my throat.

I untangle myself from his arms quickly, and in one swift movement, I have Leonardo pushed back against the wall, with his hands pinned above his head. He lets out a surprised yelp at the sudden action, but he quickly settles into the standing position, taking the form of a relaxed posture.

"Ha, ha, ha," he says sarcastically. "How very funny, Raph. Care to let me loose?" He squirms against my grip, attempting to free himself.

"I could," I murmur seductively, trailing a single finger down his plastron. "Or I could do this." Hastily, I bring my lips to the crook of his neck, where I suck on the noticeably delicate skin until he moans.

When he does, I lap my tongue over his collar bone. "Still want me to let you go?" I ask, lips lined with a sexy smile.

Leonardo's only response is a low churr and the fluttering of his eyelids. I take this as him urging me to continue.

I trail upwards, letting only my bottom lip graze his shamrock skin. My free hand clasps his ass, lifting him off of the ground. As if he knew what I was getting at, he wraps his legs around my torso.

"I-I love you," he gasps.

Yet another thing to adore about my precious groom; how easily he gets turned on.

"I love you, more," I say in competition.

I bite my tongue, trying to fight of the tingling sensation in my nether legions. 'No,' I tell myself, 'we can't do this tonight.'

"No!" Leonardo exclaims, as if he had something important to announce. My head jolts upward,and my eyes meet his in an instant.

The locked stare shoves me into a state of vulnerability. Those luscious eyes, resting just above a perfectly curved snout; I find myself lost in them.

Leo takes my weakness to his own advantage, shaking his way free from my grasp. Before I know it, he's standing on his own two feet, with me pinned back against the wall.

I don't know why, but I find this to be rather amusing. It could be because of how much shorter he is than me now, or because I'm far more masculine than him. Whatever it is, it sends a small giggle running through me.

"You think this is funny?" Leonardo asks, despite his own bubbly laugh. "I'm trying to prove my point, stop laughing." He jabs my plastron with a single finger. He tries for a stern face, but fails so miraculously.

Shaking my head at his goofy manner, I lean forward. When our lips meet, I'm drawn back into a peaceful land, a sort of nirvana. I can barely process anything outside of the sugary kiss. Thus, when Karai steps through the front door, carrying three grocery bags in either hand, I pay no mind. Until, of course, Leonardo breaks the kiss.

He jumps backwards, clearly as surprised as I am. His grows to be flustered as he stares at our new company. "Karai? W-what brings you here?"

"It's grocery day," she reminds with a growl.

She's about as rude as she always is—walking through our house with her muddy shoes on, ordering Leonardo to entertain Ellie, and demanding me to help her out the food away. She crosses the line when shoves Leonardo out of the way in a beeline for the kitchen, and I completely lose my shit.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" I shout at her. I wrap a protective arm around my husband's torso, pulling him towards me. He mumbles something about being fine, and getting along on his own. He asks me to let him go so he can watch over Ellie—who's already wandered off into the living room—but the only thing I do is switch my grip over to his hand, dragging him with me into the kitchen.

Karai whips around at me, dropping all of the bags carelessly on the floor. "I think that I'm the only one in this godforsaken family who still has a grip on her head! You two faggots are out here making babies, Mikey is never home anymore cause he's doing who knows what with Donnie. And here I am, delivering food every week so you all don't starve. I work my ass off for you mutant freaks and you don't make a single effort to return the favor!"

Leonardo flinches, while I don't move a muscle. Standing my ground, I straighten my posture and clench my fists. I put a snarl on my face, and eyes that narrow like daggers.

"Listen here, Karai, you just barged into my house without so much as knocking, and called me and my husband 'faggots.' Now, I don't know about Leo here, but I am not very happy with that." My voice is a stern warning, smooth and slick, quiet. I'd like to yell and scream at her for the hurtful words she'd spoke, but a whisper is far more intimidating than bellow.

"Look, Raphael, I'm not here to please you. I'm here with groceries. Which, trust me, I did not want to deliver here today," her remark is beyond snarky, on the brink of becoming barbaric.

I take it as an insult, a bitter one that tastes sour on my tongue. A vile comeback makes its way onto my tongue, but before I have the chance to shout, Leonardo's words drift into the heated atmosphere.

"Why didn't you send Mikey over, then?" His voice is calm, as usual. To this day, it confuses me. How doesn't he boil with rage? How doesn't he ache to scream every curse in the English language? How does he collect himself so effortlessly?

Karai heaves a sigh, leaning onto the countertop for support. Eyelids fall down, sending her bright, honey colored irises into an abyss of darkness. "Because Mikey insisted on bringing Donnie his groceries. I told him to hurry home, so he could bring you yours as well. Two and a half hours later, and he isn't home."

She pushed away from the marble surface, moving towards the fridge, where she begins putting away fresh fruits, milk, juices, and produce. With her back turned to us, she adds, "Those two are always together nowadays. Something's up, but Mike won't tell me shit." Pausing, Karai peers at us over her shoulder. Her eyes flicker from mine to Leonardo's. "I don't suppose either of you have any clue as to what's going on."

If Leonardo is nervous in any way about putting on the spot like this, he certainly hides it well. He's a grade A liar—which can be both a good thing, and a bad thing. In this case, it's beneficial. Still, there are times in our marriage that I worry that he's keeping me in the dark about one thing or another. Being married to your clan's shogun isn't always easy. I love him, nevertheless, though.

"No, this is all news to us. Raph and I haven't talked to Mikey since dinner last week, and even then it was just a short conversation," my husband replies casually, shrugging. His movement jerks my arm slightly, and my I squeeze his hand in response.

He smiles at me softly, a gentle reminder of where my lips had been previously. I long to pick back up on the hot scene we were in the middle of when Karai walked in. I'm not stupid, though, I'm aware that the moment is lost. It might not be a while until it surfaces once more, as, lately our physical contact as been more scarce. Leo reassures me that it's because of his pregnancy that he'd rather cuddle than make out heavily, and that as soon as our baby is born, we can go right back to our old ways.

"Whatever you say, Leonardo. I believe you. After all, why shouldn't I? You've never lied to me," Karai wears a set of pursed, cherry red lips. Her eyes look the blue cladded turtle up and down, as if he were something for her to judge.

She crinkles the empty plastic bags, tossing them onto the counter as she strolls out of the kitchen. "I'm just worried is all. You know, Donnie and Mikey used to date," Karai states matter if factly.

We're in the hall now, and I'm watching Karai tie Ellie's pink tennis shoes, getting her daughter ready to leave. Leonardo grins down at our niece, his pearly white teeth flashing between the wide crack of parted, green lips. I can only imagine what he's thinking about right now, especially when he places a hand over his plastron.

"Of course I know they were dating. Donnie is my brother, he tells me everything," I scoff, slightly offended by her wording.

Smirking mischievously, Karai glances up at me. "Obviously not, otherwise, I wouldn't be here right now."

She leaves too quickly, my response is too slow. I don't have the chance to ask her what she meant by that, leaving me wondering.

My first though is, 'What did she do to him?'

If only I weren't so blind. For, the real question is thee, 'What did he do to her?'

* * *

I wasn't expecting to be this excited about my child, but as I'm holding Leonardo's hand, waiting for a clear image to form on the screen before us, I'm squirming from the anxiety.

Donatello stands beside the medical bed where my husband lays, rubbing Polysonic gel over Leo's lower plastron. Within a matter of minutes, I'll know my baby's gender, and be able to spend the next three months preparing for it's delivery.

"There we go," Donatello mumbles to himself, a faint but proud smile settling upon his sly lips. He sets the bottle of gel down, making his way over towards the tv screen.

Leonardo squeezes my hand tight enough to make both our knuckles go white. Not that I care, it's refreshing, knowing that he's going through the same unbearable waiting as I am.

"What are we looking at Don?" Leo asks, his voice underlined with a quiver.

My younger brother smirks thoughtfully, his burgundy eyes soft. "A baby girl," he states joyfully.

I swear to god, my heart skips a beat. A baby girl . . . Leonardo—the love of my life, my best friend, my soulmate, my Prince Charming, my husband, my everything—and I are having a daughter. A little girl to call our own.

Slowly, I turn my head to look at Leonardo. He's staring at the tv screen, studying the image of our unborn baby. Silent tears slip out from between the cracks in his eyes, curving with his well-sculpted face.

I rest my forehead on his shoulder, smiling at the feeling of his skin against mine. "I love you," I murmur.

"I love you, too, Raphie," Leonardo whispers.

His head slumps to the side, falling atop of mine. Donatello leaves us to our solitude, and I crawl onto the bed with my lover. I rub his belly and his his cheek.

That's when I lose myself, when I become too blind to see reality.

In that moment, I allow myself to believe that everything is perfect—I'm married to a man who loves me unconditionally, and we're going to have a child. I become a fool, though, for thinking that it's all going to be an easy road from here.

If I weren't as ignorant as I am now, I'd realize that that assumption is far from the truth. And if I don't come to terms with reality soon, it might be too late.

Things are not going to be okay.

Things are never going to be okay.

Not for me and Leonardo, at least.

Not in the long run.

* * *

Though being freed from sin, most remain slaves, blinded and gagged by their own deception.

— Ted Dekker


	21. Chapter 21

Isn't it perfect when times are happy? You're finally relieved of stress, the weight you bear is lifted off of your shoulders. Everything becomes a thousand times easier. So often do we lose our grip on reality during these long awaited periods. We forget about how suddenly the mood can switch; from raw, eccentric love, to bitter, heart wrenching hatred. It happens almost instantly, and in my own experiences, it's in the ways you least expect it.

But that's besides the point. Right now I'm happy, hence, I should be contempt with that. Only I'm not, because I'm drowning in fear, forced to feel on-edge. Especially as I rest my forehead again my husband's slight stomach bulge.

I can feel her in there, kicking as she rolls around in her womb. I wonder what she looks like; what her skin tone is, and how close her eyes will resemble Leo's. I try to imagine mine and my lover's personalities rolled into one, but I can hardly imagine it.

What happens when you mix fire and water? You get destruction. Water burns, and fire drowns. Both are furious, in their own special ways. Neither willing to lift the grudge off of the ground; not quite yet.

I lay a delicate kiss upon Leo's tummy, leaving the gift to rest over our daughter. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wrap my arms tightly around his lower back, pulling him closer. He doesn't object, and his hands find their way to massage my head.

"Only another month," Leonardo murmurs in reminder. I nod in agreement, because of course I know that our daughter is due in just over four weeks. I wouldn't be able to forget it if I tried, due to my husband's constant countdown.

Leo's excitement can be a bit overwhelming, and I say this with all the love in the world. It's an adorable act when he grins down at his stomach every time he feels a soft movement. Some days, he sits in the nursery we've constructed, rocking back in forth in a chair I'd sculpted myself. He'll read to our daughter, his voice as gentle as a birds.

When I hear him in there, talking to what I assume to be himself, I smile warmly. It isn't every day that you walk in to see the love of your life in such a motherly state. I hope I don't ever go a day in my life without coming witness to such a precious moment.

We've talked it over, the confusion of names. Our children will know him as Mom and me as Dad, just as a way of clearing things up. He's going to be a magnificent mother, my Leonardo. He seems to have a strong belief that I'll be a wonderful father, but I can't bring myself to agree.

Something doesn't feel right to me when I lay my head over his stomach. A sense of fear lurks in the depths of my mind. It's an undeniable thought, to assume that something is wrong. I want to brush it aside, but it's far too controlling.

It's as if it's on the tip of my tongue, the disaster that's about to strike. I know it's going to take place, I carry an odd sense of deja vu about the matter.

I don't dare tell Leonardo, as I can only imagine how paranoid he'll grow to be. That wouldn't be very good for the baby, therefore, I'll keep my suspicions to myself. After all, that's all they are, minor suspicions.

Right?

I won't be able to wrap my mind around what's going on—as of now, our daughter is healthy and, that should be enough for me. Hence the reason I'm ignoring the anxiety that's taking over me, because everything is going smooth right now.

I should know better than to assume things'll stay like this. Deep down, I know they won't, I understand that a storm is coming. I'm just too fucking happy to care.

"Elisabetta," Leonardo murmurs, his voice filled with hope. His hand is striking the top of my head, holding me loosely as I nuzzle into his curved belly. "Can that be her name?"

I don't open my eyes, I'm not ready to let the world come seeping in through the cracks between my eyelids just yet. I'm finding it to be rather nice, leaning against my lover and feeling his hands on me. Our daughter's swift pitter-patter is a bonus.

I smile softly. "Of course, my love, whatever you wish." It isn't like me to cave in this easily, especially considering our heated debate on the subject of names. I was bent on La Belle, so what made me surrender?

Perhaps it was Leo's desperation, or the promise of a blithe glaze that would paint itself over his sapphire eyes if he got his way. More likely than not, though, it was because of the unsettling feeling that rested in the pit of my stomach. It told me that things weren't right, and that this was one of my last chances to enlighten my husband.

So I did just that.

He let out a squeal of excitement, and when I was standing, he leapt into my arms.

Looking back at that moment in our kitchen, I wish I could go back, just so I could cherish one of my last times holding him. Because by now, I'd give up the world if it meant I could have him in arms reach once more.

Even if it meant reliving the following six weeks.

* * *

"You're doing it wrong," Leonardo states bluntly, watching me from the doorway. I whip around to face him, clumsily splattering blue paint onto the plastic wrap laid out across the floor.

"I told you to stay downstairs; the paint fumes aren't healthy for the baby," my stern voice matches my narrowed brow perfectly.

Leonardo isn't taking any of that, he's in another one of his infamous, bitter moods today. "I was going to invite you down for lunch, but clearly you'd rather spend another hour up here." My husband rolls his eyes as he squats down in an attempt to grab a paint brush identical to my own. "You aren't even doing it correctly. Here, let me show you."

Leonardo is rather graceful as he dips the fat, bushy brush into the cyan blue paint. It drifted across the bumpy drywall, never drilling, unlike my paint job had. He was far better at this than me, that much was apparent. I enjoyed watching him work, the state it put him in was rather adorable. His sapphire eyes are relaxed as he fixates every last ounce of attention into the task.

Grinning, I crouch down beside him. "Damn, you're good at this," I whisper in awe.

Leonardo smirks and glances at me out of the corner of his eye as he replies, "So am I allowed to help you now?"

I nod. "Of course, darling."

We spend another hour and a half painting our daughter's nursery, entertaining each other in the simplest of ways. He tells me riddles, while I throw cheesy pickup lines his way. His giggles—giddy and cheerful as ever—fill the room with color. His smile is what adds the blue to these walls.

I've never noticed it, but the wider his smile, the less eyes glow. I ponder over it for several moments, but choose to let it go, too lost in the moment to take note of the bags underlining his stare. I'm blinded by his false mood to realize that he's holding back tears.

It's the first day of many, where I ignore the obvious signs of depression lurking in his eyes. These days would be the ones I come to regret the most.

For after the storm ends, even the strongest of houses collapse. And ours just so happens to be the oddity, the one that'll never quite be fixed.

Somehow, someway, we'll still manage to turn out okay in the end.

All in good time.

All in good time.

...

What if the storm ends, and I don't see you as you are now, ever again?

— What if the Storm Ends (Snow Patrol)


	22. Chapter 22

There's a small house on the top of a hill. It rests in the middle of a meadow, with blooming flowers surrounding its wooden walls. Inside the cabin, sitting at the kitchen counter, is a beautiful couple. They're in love with each other, you can see it in their eyes as they gaze at one another. You can hear it in their voices when they flirt.

They've been happily married for nearly three years. They have no reason to be sad, only a list of things to be excited for. Number one being their unborn child.

She's to be a baby girl, going by the name of Elizabetta. She would be brought into the world as a gift, but leave as a burden.

Her mother is due in less than a week, although his stomach isn't quite bulging, do to his strong plastron. His hand is always over the slight bump, though, noting each and every movement his daughter makes.

This morning, worry has taken over his face as he dines upon a warm, fresh breakfast. His husband quickly takes notice.

"What's wrong, dear?" I ask in a concerned tone.

Leonardo's mouth tugs into a deep frown. "I haven't felt her kick in quite a while," he states, brow furrowed as he fixates his gaze on the counter.

"I'm sure it's just because you're getting closer to your due date," I suggest with a shrug.

With an unsure gleam lining his sapphire eyes, Leo gnaws on his bottom lip. "I don't know, Raph. Usually she kicks at least six times an hour. But . . . she hasn't since late last night." His stare shifts away from mine, falling upon the floor. He whispers the next part, his voice barely a gasp against the rest of the world, "I'm scared."

You know that feeling where, as much as you'd expected it to happen, you still can't help but feel shocked when it does? That's how I feel about my husband's confession.

For the past 23 years, Leonardo has been bent on being a fearless warrior, content with not showing a single emotion that wasn't bravery. In these recent months, though, he's broken. It's as if he finally fell off of his high horse and hit the ground with a thump. As if he cracked open, and everything he's left bottled up finally escaped. Like birds set free.

It's hard to catch all of those birds with my own two hands. Sometimes I'm not as agile as I should be, and that sneak away without my notice. He notices it, though. And every time I let one get away, he sinks lower and lower into an abyss I know all too well.

Depression.

It's gotten to be rather severe lately. Either that, or I'm just now paying mind to it.

Nevertheless, it's hard to take care of him these days. Well, perhaps the words "take care of him" don't fit the situation as smugly as others could. So, let me rephrase that last part.

Looking after him when the depression strikes, trying to lift his spirits when he's feeling down, it makes me wonder how he ever did it. Not just that, but how he's been doing in for seven straight years. Only an angel sent down from heaven would be able to tolerate my disorders for that long.

Going back to the present times.

He's just confessed to being afraid. How do I reply to this? Do I lie and tell him that everything will be okay? Because it won't, we're both mature enough to know that much. Still, it'd play as a temporary relief if I fed him those words of reassurance.

"I'm sure she's fine." When my halfhearted response is met with a set of narrowed eyes, I add, "We'll go get a check up with Donnie this afternoon, just in case, though."

Leonardo seemingly relaxes at this, as his shoulders slump and posture loosens. A small smile makes it way onto both of our lips.

This is enough to fool me, I'm not yet convinced that he—my lover, my soulmate, my best friend, my forever—is okay. He's doing as he always does when he's bothered; puts on a cheap smile, goes back to whatever task was at hand, and avoids all eye contact.

He has it in his mind that I don't notice the fake attitude. What Leo doesn't realize is that I know everything about him. I know that he has to sleep with two blankets to keep from getting cold, but three will make him sweat. I know he cries during chick flicks. I know that his favorite thing to do in the woods is sing a tune for the birds to follow up on. I know that he hates the smell of roses, despite adoring their appearance.

And I know, above all else, how his mind works.

He sees inability as vulnerability. He doesn't dare admit to his feelings, although, he'd never give up, not for the life of him.

He says that he trusts me, that he loves me enough to tell me anything. So why won't he open up to me now? Why won't he tell me what's wrong? What did I ever do to make him feel the need to hide everything?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

What I do know is that the only way to fight off his doubt is to replace it with something brighter.

"Let's talk about her," I say with a wild grin on my face.

Leo's eyes widen at my sudden enthusiasm, and a blush creeps onto his cheeks. "What about?"

"Dunno," I confess with a shrug. I didn't have a plan stepping onto this field, merely a motive; put my husband in a better mood.

The emerald green terrapin soaks a chunk of his Belgian waffle in a pool of syrup, a considerate expression on his face. "How about all of the things we want to do with her?"

A peculiar suggestion, yet, enough to fill my entire form with an excitement like no other.

That's how we spent our morning, day dreaming together about our life with our daughter. We made plans to build a swing and slide, perhaps a teeter-totter as well. We talked about the games we could play, and the fairytales we could tell her.

On that morning, I fell further in love with my husband then I ever had before, and would for a very long time. I saw things in him I hadn't seen in a very long time, things that were beyond miraculous. I saw passion and dignity and hope and optimism. I saw things I never wanted to lose sight of.

I saw things that were far too pure for this world.

Things that would soon turn to dust, with nothing but an unbearable memory to lay in their wake.

* * *

There we were again, in Donnie's basement. Leonardo lays patiently on the cot, tracing patterns over his belly. I'm holding onto his left hand for dear life, willingly broadcasting the anticipation my husband refuses to express.

My little brother sits at his computer, making odd faces at whatever is pictured on his screen. I try to imagine what he might he examining, but I'm left in a state of loss. I never read the baby books, therefore, I have no idea what's to be expected at this stage in the pregnancy.

Donatello mumbles something, his words hidden beneath a cloth of heavy breath.

"What was that?" Leonardo asks, letting his head fall over onto his shoulder. I find myself scooting forward to the edge of my seat, clenching my jaw in anticipation.

Leo glances up at me, a look in his sapphire eyes that proves him to be put off by my actions. Its then, and only then, that it dawns on me.

He isn't getting the bad vibes that I am. He hasn't spent the last few months worrying about one thing or another, because he doesn't have to carry an unnerving weight that I do.

I begin to ponder; what if I'm crazy? What if this is just my conscience trying to mold my fear of being a father into something utterly different?

But, what if I'm not crazy? What if something is in fact about about to happen? That something could be life changing.

I shake my head slightly, riding myself of the poisonous thoughts. There's no need to overthink, not in a situation like this.

Across the room, Donatello bangs his fist against his desk. His burgundy eyes glaze over with an emotion I can't quite recognize. It's as if all of the fury and all of the misery in our tiny world came together, and, as one, took over my baby brother's eyes.

Leonardo flinches, leaning back in my direction. I stand up and give my husband's hand one final squeeze before stalking over towards Donnie.

"What's going—"

"Go upstairs," the purple cladded turtle demands. "I need to go over some things."

Five minutes later, and I'm sitting on the couch upstairs, with Leonardo's head on my lap. He's crying softly, repeatedly asking if I knew what could be wrong. I hate to say it, but I haven't a clue.

Fifteen minutes later and Michelangelo steps through the front door. He hurries to the basement without so much as a word to me or my husband. Leonardo's tears come down harder, and sobs escape his mouth. I try my hardest to comfort him.

A half hour later and we're in the kitchen, us four Hamato boys. I'd like to call us men, but we haven't yet reached that title, I don't believe.

Donatello and Michelangelo sat down across from me and Leo, the former holding the latter's hand. It was clear that Mikey was the one bearing the news, the one bound to deliver it.

"There isn't an easy way to tell you guys this," he starts, his freckled cheeks floating upwards with every syllable.

"Then don't," Leonardo blurts. "Just upright tell us what's going on."

I admire my mate's urge to know what's going on, but at the same time, he couldn't have picked a worse time to say that.

Mikey does exactly what's asked of him. He looks between me and my husband and hands it to us, the most heart wrenching news of all.

"Elisabetta is gone."

That house in the meadow was torn to shreds that day, the couple suddenly torn. They'd lost their daughter to death, and their relationship would tatter in unthinkable ways.

All hope was gone, wisked away by the bitter winds.

* * *

It feels like a tear in my heart, like a part of me missing and I just can't feel it. I've tried and I've tried, and I've tried. Tears on my face I can't take it. If lonely's a taste, then it's all that I'm tasting. Do you hear my cry? I cry, oh. Can you hold me? Can you hold me in your arms?

— Can You Hold Me (NF, featuring Britt Nicole)


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello again, old friends. My dearest apologies for the long hiatus. I got caught up in someone, a distraction, if you will, and lost sight of my usual tasks and hobbies. Nevertheless, I'm back, and updates will be more frequent. Hopefully I haven't lost too many viewers over the break. Anyway, please enjoy this long awaited chapter, and please review.**

* * *

In a situation, you must make choices. It doesn't matter what's going on, whether the scene be favorable or unpleasant; it's your duty to make a move. And if you don't—if you choose to repress the decision—then it won't go away. In fact, it'll get bigger and bigger, and by the time you finally will yourself to go back to it, you be able to face on your own.

What if, though, you were in the deepest depths of a problem, and your only source of enlightenment was standing right beside you in that same boat? What if you both ran away from the issue? What if you didn't come back to each other for a long time, for, if you did, the treacherous situation would play as a wall between you two? What if when you finally saw each other once more, you were two completely different people?

Too many what ifs, too many questions. I ignore them, shove them down into an abyss, where I won't have to pay them any mind.

Leonardo seems to be doing the same thing. I can see it in his glazed eyes as he stares at the tv. There's next to no emotion written on his face, and it's quite depressing, to say the least. His hand rubs his stomach, despite the fact that he knows well enough what's in there, curled into a ball beneath his plastron. Our dead child.

Donnie wasn't able to give us a thorough explanation to how she died. He wasn't sure how it could've happened. Everything was going well, she was healthy and so was my husband. But still her heart stopped. Still, she isn't alive.

She will be birthed, though. In fact, almost immediately after Michelangelo and Donatello delivered the news, the latter gave Leo a shot. "In eight hours, you'll go into labor," the purple cladded turtle stated dully. When his words were met with a desperate stare and sob, he'd apologized, claiming that this was the only way to get our poor Elisabetta out of there.

It's been a waiting game ever since.

Seven hours and forty-five minutes have ticked away. We're at home now, considering that's where Leonardo would be most comfortable giving birth. He and I are in bed together, watching Space Heroes on the box tv in front of our bed. We aren't cuddling, but our shoulders are touching. He's made it rather clear that that's as far as he's willing to go right now.

Every few minutes, I'll glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Usually, there isn't much change. This time, though, I'm met with a different expression.

It looks as if he's finally cracked. The glass he'd been wearing for quite sometime has shattered, and emotions are slowly seeping out.

Tears line his sapphire eyes, and his lips are parted. I wonder if there are words he's meaning to say, but can't find the voice to speak them.

His hands start to quiver. It isn't long before his entire body is trembling, and a sob escapes his throat when he reaches that point.

"Why us?" He demands. His words are just barely comprehensible. It's been a long while since the last time he broke down like this, and as prepared as I was for the next storm, I'm still panicking.

It's funny how that works. You could spend your entire life preparing for an event, but when it comes, you'll be stumped.

I struggle in this moment, afraid to make a move. He's unpredictable, my husband. I can never tell when he wants me to comfort him or if he just needs to get this all out of his system. When he turns over and buries his head in the crook of my neck, I know that he needs companionship.

My arms wrap around his slim body, pulling his closer. His palms are rested on my plastron, and he doesn't shift as I pull him to lay between my spread legs.

"I don't know, sweetheart. Sometimes things just happen, and we're meant to go along with it," I murmur in a hushed voice.

"Don't say that, Raphael." Leonardo pushes away from me, sitting up tall. He wipes the strayed tears from his eyes in one simple movement. "This is our daughter we're talking about. I'm not just going to 'go along with it,'" he snaps, his eyes suddenly narrowed in a deep glare.

I grab his hands, taking them both and holding them up to my lips. "Babe, that's not what I meant."

Leonardo heaves a sigh, glancing away from me, clearly avoiding eye contact. "I know, darling, I'm just scared is all. And when I get scared, I tend to say things I don't actually mean."

I tilt my head and part my lips, ready to make a reply—although I didn't know what I would say next, had I been given the chance.

Leonardo grips his stomach and lets out a grunt of discomfort. "Fuck!" He hisses in an airy voice.

I place a hand on his shoulder and another on his hip. "Is it happening?" I demand in a panicked voice.

My husband gives a brief nod. His teeth are clenched, eyes squeezed shut. The pain is practically written across his face, and I long to take it away.

I squeeze his hand and help him to lay down. "Donnie!" I yell out. "Miley! Get your asses up here!"

Two sets of feet race up the stairs and through the halls. I kneel at my husband's bedside and hold onto him. I whisper calm and soothing phrases as Donatello barks out orders.

I try to think of an easier time, when I wasn't filled with so much apprehension and despair. I try to recollect the feeling of joy.

But I come up.

Empty.

Handed.

* * *

A beautiful baby, Elisabetta was. Despite her silence, I could hear her cries as she was brought into the world. I was the first to hold her. Leonardo could barely handle the thought. I saw my daughter, though. I opened her eyelids and found a stunning pair of emerald eyes. Her skin was a perfect mix of mine and my husband's. She was soft and frail. She was perfect.

Well, as perfect as the dead could be.

We buried her the next morning, right beside our father. Leonardo didn't cry, he stood in still, with an emotionless expression strewn across his face. Donnie spoke the prayers, and I attempted to wrap an arm around Leo.

Attempted.

He turned away and walked off, leaving the burial, the funeral, at bay.

I return home an hour later and he's already dead drunk. Standing in the kitchen doorway, I purse my lips and ball my hands into fists. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Leonardo glances upwards. When his eyes meet mine, he smirks, raising his beer in the air. "Hey, baby, where've ya been?" His words slur together, influenced by the alcohol penetrating his system.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe burying our daughter!" Leonardo rolls his eyes, as if what I'd said meant nothing to him. He brings a beer to his lips, but just before he can take a sip, I tear the glass bottle out of his hand.

"The fuck was that for?" A hiccup follows.

"You're drunk, Leo," I growl.

Leo stands, pushing himself away from the counter. I watch him stumble across the room. "What's it to you?"

He reaches for the refrigerator door and that's when I've had it. I lunge the half empty beer bottle at him; a hit he somehow manages to dodge. Leonardo looses his balance falls the floor, banging his head against the wall on the way down.

"I am not having this drinking in my house!" I bellow.

I see nothing but red. The angry I've managed to bottle up for so long is getting the best of me. I have a sudden urge to destroy, to punch something, someone, until the rage subsides.

Leonardo lets out a sarcastic chuckle. "Your house? Since when is this 'your house?'"

I fold my arms across my chest and glare downwards. He's struggling to get up off the floor, but I'm not making a move to help him.

"Since my brother built it."

"Don's my family, too."

"Actually, no, he isn't. He's my brother. Mikey and Karai are married and have a child. Everyone out here has a family but you. Everyone out here matters except for you. I'm all you've got, and if I were even the slightest bit tempted to kick you out, no one would argue. So I would suggest that you step back in line, fearless."

I don't know what's come over me. It's as if I were the one who'd been hit on the head. I'd never say these things unless I'd gone mad. And yet, I'm feeling as if I'm entirely bonkers.

What is the point of being in love if you still manage to say these vile things?

What is the point of marriage if you still fight like enemies?

What is the point of romance if there are still specks of hate in the irises of your eyes?

What is the point in partnership when you threaten to abandon them?

What is the point of trusting each other if you're still going to make threats?

And above all, what is the point of being in love if you can fall out of it?

I long to give up on this fight and drag Leonardo to bed. I want to cuddle him and kiss him until the strong smell of alcohol has dispersed from his mouth. We could sleep well and wake up tomorrow and move on in life; together. Things could be easy if I would just get off of this damn high horse I'm riding.

"You're just jealous because Splinter appointed me as leader," Leonardo scoffs.

I throw my hands in the air in completely and utter astonishment, because how the hell is that relevant anymore?

"Splinter is dead!" I shout. "And so is Elisabetta, but all you wanna do is drink your ugly ass to death. What happened to us being here for each other?"

Leonardo shakes his head and waves a hand, practically shushing me. "Knock it off with that shit, alright? I don't need that right now."

I move towards him, stopping when I'm a few steps behind. "Of course you don't, Leo. But I don't need to be putting up with your alcoholism, either. I didn't need our daughter or father today, didn't need the depression I've been diagnosed with. I don't need half of the bullshit that's in my life, but it's here and I have to deal with it. That's what life is about; taking what's thrown at you and putting up with it."

Leonardo glances at me from over his shoulder. There's a judgmental gleam resting in his sapphire eyes. I wait for him to bite back, though, he doesn't.

"I'm going to bed," he mutters.

I watch him stumble up the stairs. He trips over his own feet and falls, letting out a dramatic sob. I suppose that's when he breaks, when all of the sadness and pain comes flooding back to him.

Unsurprisingly, I feel not a single pint of sympathy for the man. I shrug and turn my back.

I do suppose that, in our darkest hours, we are selfish beings. I do suppose that there is nothing good coming from this situation. I do suppose that I no longer have a will to live.

I do suppose that this is when all goes to hell.

* * *

It's easier to know who I'm not than to know who I am. When everyone expects me to fail, it's easier to give up than to try.

—This is Where it Ends (Marieke Nijkamp)


	24. Chapter 24

Hey guys. I've been receiving a lot of messages and reviews lately asking me to continue my writing, and I'd just like to clear a few things up. I'm no longer writing on this account, I've transferred over to **nxgmobblepot** , due primarily to a change in fandoms. I may post TMNT oneshots occasionally, but none of these stories will be updated anytime soon if at all. My dearest apologies, and I do hope that you'll all continue to read my writing on my new account—assuming I actually get around to posting anything, my writing is currently on tumblr. Anyway. I'm sorry for leaving all of you hanging, and thank you for sticking with my stories throughout the years. You've all given me the strength I need to believe in myself.


	25. Chapter 25

Hello everyone!

It's been a long while since I posted anything on this account, but I'm back with a very special announcement that I think you will be glad to hear.

I fell out of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fandom last year, due mainly to finding a new favorite show, but also because of the hiatus TMNT had been on at that time. When I wound up coming back to writing these stories, it was shortly after a breakup with a girl I met and fell in love with thanks to our mutual love for the turtles. It was extremely painful to write these stories, so I gave up on them for my own benefits.

Recently, I began watching and finished the show. Since then, I've been considering rewriting some of my own works. The two I've settled on are Cuts and Bruises and Scars and Markings. If enough people respond to this and ask for a remake, then I'll have the first few chapters up shortly. My plan is to rewrite the stories, now that my writing skills are more improved and, well, better. The general plot will remain the same, though there may be a few changes here and there. if anyone would like me to follow through with this plan, and to finish the series once and for all, then please leave a review and I will make it happen. If all goes accordingly, this series will end as a trilogy. Believe me, you'll all want to see what I have in store.

Additionally, if there are any other stories you would like to see in new and better condition, drop reviews or private message me and i will look into renewing those as well.

Thank you very much for taking the time to read this. My dearest apologies for my long break.


End file.
